Storm in a D cup
by Lucida Bright
Summary: Have Gene and Alex run their course, or do they a future together? London, 1982 – Alex and Gene find themselves caught up in personal battles and terrifying events which threaten them and those they love. TRA Best Mystery: Winner
1. Disconnect

_**Disclaimer**__:_ _Kudos and Monastic own __**Ashes to Ashes**__ – the characters, the context, the backstory. Thanks to Matthew and Ashley for such fantastic characters._

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**STORM IN A D-CUP**

_January 1982_

'I've had enough of your games, Bolly,' snarled Gene, pushing back his chair and getting to his feet. Glaring at Alex, he pushed past her and left the bar, his team watching his departure with shocked amusement.

'Bloody 'ell,' said Ray to anyone listening, 'She must have worked hard to piss him off enough to walk out. He usually puts up with twelve kinds of crap from her.' He chuckled. 'With a bit of luck, the rot's set in, and we'll be rid of her before Valentine's Day.'

Alex heard that, as Ray intended. She threw back the rest of her wine and was about to leave when Shaz came across. 'Mind if I join you, Ma'am?'

'No, of course not, Shaz. Sit down.' She smiled at her young friend. The police didn't encourage friendships between senior and junior officers, but as the only two females in CID, and given their shared history, it was hardly surprising that the WDC and the DI had become close. Now that Shaz had been co-opted out of uniform and on to CID strength proper, Alex had become her mentor, seeing potential in young Sharon Granger that she was determined to foster. Who knew – she might get home to 2008 to find Shaz in her late 40s, assistant commissioner somewhere. Well, someone like Shaz. She was, after all, just a construct, Alex reminded herself. She had to keep reminding herself. If Shaz was real, Gene was real, and she'd just lost another chance to get closer to him. _But he's not real. None of this is real. He doesn't need me, because he doesn't exist. I'm lying in the rusty bottom of a Thames barge, bleeding to death – not much cop as a cop when you're damp and unconscious. _

She laughed out loud, and Shaz frowned, puzzled. 'Did I say something funny?'

Alex touched her arm in apology. 'No, Shaz, sorry – just thinking about something stupid. I've had too much wine, as usual. Ignore me.'

'What Ray said just now...'

'Ray is an arse of the first order, Shaz, but for once he might be right.'

'No, Ma'am. The Guv thinks the world of you. We all do. It'll be fine.'

Alex patted Shaz's arm, grateful for her reassurance. 'Thanks, Shazzer. I hope you're right. I really do.' With a tired smile, she stood and headed upstairs to her flat.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Gene stood in the lee of the building, fag in hand, waiting. Walking out on Alex was a stupid impulse, and he regretted it. Wanted to go back in but couldn't stomach giving in so easily. He was hanging around in the faint hope that she'd come chasing after him. She had before, once or twice.

He thought of her a couple of months ago, racing after him up these very stairs, standing at his shoulder, facing down a nutter with a gun. Not short of courage, his Bolly. _Fucking amazing woman – cool as a polar bear's toes, hot as Old Nick's knackers. Completely insane, of course, but you can't have everything._ He smiled at the thought of her in full flow – a storm in a D-cup...

No sign of anybody doing any chasing tonight, though. He took a vicious drag on his cigarette and flung it into the gutter. Maybe he'd blown it completely. He never really thought he'd win her, but there'd been moments when he'd begun to hope. _Destructive bloody emotion, hope. Keeps you dangling from a hook right through the tender bits. Sodding painful._

He shoved himself upright and with a last look at Luigi's door, went to the car. He gunned the engine and took off, tyres squealing, rage fuelling his right foot. Kill hope. Cut the strings. _Get on with it. Plenty of bloody women out there gagging for the Gene Genie's attentions – about time I did them a favour._

Alex reached the top of the steps in time to see the Quattro whip round the corner and vanish. Had Gene been waiting for her? She swore with such vehemence her body convulsed, and she spun round on her heels in frustration. It hadn't occurred to her that he might have waited for her. It wasn't his style. She realised that Gene probably stopped to talk to a copper outside the station. Nothing to do with her at all. _Time to grow up. This isn't real. Not real. All in my head. Gene Hunt is a figment of a dead man's imagination that caught mine..._

She kept muttering instructions to herself all the way upstairs, and to silence the internal critic she stabbed the TV on button and let Kenny Everett calm her down with his manic genius. 'It's all in the best possible taste!' He can't have seen Gene's disgusting ties, she thought.

xxxxxxxxxx

The following morning Alex was in early, although she refused to admit, even to herself, that it was in the hope of having a quiet word with Gene. She had a heap of files to go through and a list of witnesses to get seen. But Gene didn't get in till nearly 10am, looking sharp. He didn't so much as glance at her on his way through the office. She waited for the summons to his office, but Gene shut the door and all was silent for the next half hour.

Chris was predictably rehashing last night's Kenny Everett show. Parading like Sid Snot, Chris was doing a creditable take of the Scouse comic's London accent, prompting mass hysteria.

That brought Gene out of his hole. 'Granger!' he snapped. Shaz leapt to it; new detective or not, she was still at the bottom of the pecking order, and the first in line for tea duty. But order given, Gene returned to his lair, although the door was left open.

Alex waited till Shaz emerged from the kitchen with Gene's tea and biscuits, and intercepted her. Taking the elevenses through the door, Alex greeted him hesitantly. 'Morning. Your tea, Guv.'

'What's this, Drake?' Gene was on his guard. 'What are you after?'

'Nothing, Gene. Thought I'd update you, that's all.'

'Right, well, let's have it, Bolly.' He pushed his chair back and put his feet on the desk, crunching into a chocolate finger.

So there was no row brewing, she thought. He wasn't angry with her. Alex relaxed, and ran through the day's list – clearing up the spate of muggings at St Katherine's Dock, forensics results on the body found by Wapping Steps, and chasing up statements about the wages robbery at Grey Seal Greases.

'Glad to see you're earning the taxpayers' money, Drake. Need my help on anything?'

Alex hesitated for a moment. Gene's eyebrows rose.

'Yes, actually, you could have a word with the boss at Grey Seal. Gerry Sanders. Thinks he's a bit of a comedian. Fancies himself, too – was trying a bit too hard to impress me, and there's something not right about that place.'

'Say no more, Bolly. Let's go and give him a dose of the squitters.'

Gene was out of the door in seconds, shouting for Ray.

'Oh, but I've asked Ray to go...'

'I need a chaperone, Bolly. Raymondo will protect my virtue. Come on, shift your arse.'

xxxxxxxxx

Having reduced Gerry Sanders to a pool of brown liquid, Gene drove Alex and Ray back to Fenchurch East. Walking up to the office, Alex said softly: 'Gene, could I have a word?'

Gene halted, and after a quick look at her, turned to Ray. 'Get Granger to put the kettle on, Raymondo.'

'Guv.' Ray nodded, and pushed through the double doors.

Gene swivelled back to face Alex, eyebrows raised.

'Er, last night. I upset you...'

'Upset me, Bolly? Impossible. I'm the epitome of even temper.'

'But you walked out on me.'

'No, Bolly, I left. Grand Prix to watch. Stuff to do.'

'But you don't usually...'

'Maybe not, but I do have a life outside this little family of ours, you know.'

Alex looked gobsmacked. 'Since when?'

Gene sniffed. 'Right. If that's all, you have work to do, DI Drake.'

And pushing open the door for her, Gene didn't follow her in but swanned off, coat flapping, in the direction of the Super's office.

At the end of the day, Alex went with the others to Luigi's, expecting to find Gene already there, but he followed them in a few minutes later. He bought the first round and sat with the group, leaving Alex at the bar, chatting to Luigi. Half an hour later, after one pint and a chaser, Gene got up and made his way over to Alex.

Patting her on the shoulder, he nodded towards the team. 'Go and join them, Alex. Does you no good to sit on your own. Goodnight.'

And he was gone. Alex went over, as instructed, and sat next to Shaz. 'Did the Guv say where he was going?'

Shaz shrugged. 'Only that he was meeting someone. Didn't say who, or where.'


	2. Separation

Over the next week, the pattern was much the same. Relatively harmonious working hours; one or two shouting matches – per day – but nothing out of the ordinary; after work Gene would have after a pint or two with the boys at Luigi's, then disappear. He wasn't avoiding Alex, as such, just not spending time with her as he always had.

One morning Alex was making a mug of Earl Grey – as much of a vice for her as pink wafers seemed to be for the boys – and Gene sloped into the kitchen.

'There you are, Bolly, good. Something on this afternoon you might like...' He held out a bit of paper. 'Let me know if you want to go.'

Alex took the letter from him, and Gene walked a few steps, hesitated, half-turned to her as if to say something, but thought better of it, and disappeared.

Alex took her tea, and the letter, back to her desk. It was from an outfit called Countermeasure, inviting anyone of Inspector's rank or above to a seminar on bomb threats. Even after the IRA's bombing of Chelsea Barracks on the day that her parents died, and despite the growing militancy of organisations like animal rights and CND, the government were slow to recognise the threat to daily life.

Countermeasure, a private company founded by former army and MI5 personnel, was selling its services as consultants to industry, and for goodwill and PR, was giving the city's police a chance to get ahead of the game. The seminar was that afternoon, but Alex had nothing urgent on, and the event was, conveniently, at the Tower of London, within five minutes walk of the office. A couple of hours out of the office wouldn't hurt, she reckoned, and if there was any way she could persuade people to take this stuff seriously, she had to try.

Alex knew that the IRA wouldn't ramp up their mainland campaign till the 1990s, but she also knew that eleven soliders and seven horses would die this coming summer in Knightsbridge and Regent's Park, with more than 50 injured. A friend of her mother's was a doctor at Westminster Hospital and had to deal with the smashed and torn bodies scraped off the road by Hyde Park Corner.

She knew that trying to forestall such a horror was probably pointless – she had failed to save her own parents, and in any case, this was still all in her head. She had to believe that.

Even so, she went into Gene's office. 'Guv?'

Gene had his feet up on the desk, reading Autocar. He looked up at Alex, but didn't budge. 'That's me.'

'This seminar – I'd like to go. We need to know about this stuff.'

'Then you shall go to the bomb ball, Bolly. Ask Granger to come in, would you?' And with a flick of his hand he dismissed Alex, and went back to his magazine.

Ten minutes later Shaz put a note on Alex's desk. 'Here's your reference code, Ma'am. Just go in through the main gate and show this to the Yeoman Warder and he'll direct you through to the right room. Wish I was going. I've never been inside the Tower.'

Alex chuckled. 'It's easy enough to get in. As long as they let you out again. If I'm not back by five, I might need rescuing.'

From the look that Shaz gave her, Alex knew she was thinking of their rescue from the vault at Edgehampton. Nothing was ever said, but it had been acutely embarrassing – albeit a massive relief – to be discovered half naked in Gene's arms. But, hey, life's too short.

At quarter to two, Alex left the office and walked round to Tower Hill – on that crisp January afternoon, even with the sun beaming in a limpid sky, there were few tourists around, and she was on her way through to the New Armouries. Crossing the cobbled path, she had to leap out of the way of a red Audi Quattro which whipped past her and slid to a halt in the only empty parking space.

Gene and Alex were ushered into the conference room to find it stuffed, but he led her to the front, where there were two seats waiting for them in the second row. Gene hadn't said a word since getting out of the car, but as they sat down, he gave her a wicked look, waggled his eyebrows and sniffed in that self-satisfied way of his. Alex could have hit him.

The seminar was fascinating, and for Alex, terrifying as much for what they didn't say as what they did. She thought of the horrors to come – Baltic Exchange, Canary Wharf, Brighton, Manchester, Warrington – and couldn't stop herself from sticking her hand up during questions. 'How soon do you think the IRA will start attacking civilian targets on the mainland?' she said, prompting a sharp intake of breath from the audience, and one or two shared glances between panel members.

'That's a pretty bleak outlook, and I can't see that happening, to be honest. They'd risk losing their US funding from Noraid, not to mention hardening sentiment here and abroad...'

But as everyone was leaving, the woman running the seminar came across to Alex and introduced herself. 'Miranda Campbell...' She smiled as she shook Alex's hand, waiting for her response.

'Alex Drake, Detective Inspector at Fenchurch East.'

Miranda looked at Gene, waiting for the introduction. Alex obliged. 'And this is DCI Gene Hunt.' Gene took the proferred hand, and Alex was amused at Miranda's blatant appraisal of her boss, and the come-on in her smile. She wasn't prepared for the spike of jealousy as Gene returned the smile, holding Miranda's hand a little longer than necessary. Bastard never smiled. Not at her, anyway. Bastard.

'Interesting question, Alex.'

Alex's attention snapped back to Miranda. 'Good – thanks.'

'Do you have special knowledge of this field?'

If only you knew, thought Alex, but resisted temptation. 'No, only what I read. It just seems an obvious extension of the campaign, and there are so many soft targets.'

They talked for a couple of minutes while Gene stood watching them. Alex was irritated by the fact that although Miranda was addressing her, she was looking at Gene, and her body language screamed a simple message in his direction. He made no obvious response, but was quick to accept Miranda's business card, on which she scribbled her carphone and home numbers. The card she gave Alex had no handwritten extras, oddly enough.

When they left the building, Alex automatically got into the Quattro, realising as she did so that it was only a short walk back, and a shorter drive. But she'd not been alone with Gene since that night at Luigi's, and two minutes was better than nothing.

'So you'd already arranged for us both to go, expecting me to say yes. Why didn't you just tell me?'

'A little bet I had with myself, Bolly. It's been rather dull recently.'

'Worth it?'

'Very educational. Shows how useless our spooky chums are – they couldn't stop a pig in a jigger.'

'I thought Miranda was rather good. Very professional.' Alex couldn't help herself. She watched him; Gene kept his eyes on the road.

'Mmm.'

They were one street from the office. She only had seconds. 'Why have you been giving me the cold shoulder?'

'If you wore clothes that fit, you wouldn't have a cold shoulder. Don't blame me for the inadequacies of your wardrobe.'

Gene pulled up outside the station and strode into the building, leaving Alex to trot after him. He shot into his office, shut the door, made one brief phone call and left again, without a word to anyone.

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Alex missed Gene more than she cared to acknowledge. No more _têtes a tête_ at their table in the corner, no more frisson between them, no more subtext. Worse, she'd lost him. She'd got used to having his attention, his interest, his care. She'd got to like it, had come to rely on it.

Who was she kidding? He'd become important to her, and since her parents died, he was the centre of her world. And she'd started to take it for granted that she was the centre of his.

Then she screwed up – pushed him away once too often. This time he stayed away. He obviously had something – or someone – else to go to every evening, and she much as she knew he missed Manchester, Alex didn't think it was Corrie and takeaway curry at home.

Little did she know that Corrie and a TV dinner was exactly what Gene had been leaving for. But he couldn't hang around at Luigi's, not talking to Alex. He didn't have much self-respect left when it came to Alex, but the scraps that remained had to be saved, which meant sticking to his guns. He'd gone soft over her, let himself ...

But not tonight. Tonight he was going to take what was being offered, and to hell with Alex. She didn't want him, except when she was so drunk she could barely stand. What did that make him? The least worst option? She could stuff it. Miranda took one look, wanted what she saw, let him know it, and was now about to follow through. Good enough. Not Alex, but he couldn't have Alex, so he'd take Miranda. She was smart, sassy, blonde, pretty, curvy and up for it. With him. Gene had begun to wonder if he'd lost it, whether he could get a decent woman any more. Six months ago he'd have thought he'd died and gone to heaven if the likes of Miranda made him an offer. Now she was second best... but she was throwing herself at him. Who was he to argue with a woman of such good taste?

He realised he was halfway to arguing himself out of an easy shag, and started imagining what he was going to be doing in the next few hours. Better. As he drove the Quattro through the Square Mile towards Islington, it got easier to conjure up images of Miranda in appealing poses, begging to be allowed to behave disgracefully. As he drove up City Road, past the Eagle pub, he sang to himself 'That's the way the money goes – Pop goes the weasel...'

His weasel was going to go pop tonight, more than once, and quite soon, if he had any say in the matter. He put his foot on the gas and whipped the Quattro through an amber light, turning right, then left up Liverpool Road. He turned into Theberton Street, parked, and rang the bell at the house on the corner. His breath smoked in the chill dark, as he waited on the step. Then the door opened, and Miranda was there, warm and welcoming. He stepped inside, and the door closed behind him.

xxxxxxxxx

After three nights brooding in Luigi's, Alex made her mind up to follow Gene's example. Time to get a life. This might be her internal world, but so much the better. She could construct herself a bit of fun. There was London 1982-style to explore, after all. How far would her coma world extend – could she leave London? Leave the country? Have a go, Alex. What have you got to lose?

'Alex?' Shaz's gamine face was at her shoulder. 'Are you doing anything tonight?'

Alex laughed. She never did anything. 'No, Shaz. What about you?'

'I'm going to a party. Seeing my friends while Chris is away. Would you like to come?'

That's how Alex met Harry.

He was 32, doing a PhD at Imperial College in wilderness conservation, tall, beautiful and very fit. Wild black hair, tiger's eyes, jeans and leather, motorbike. He came to Shaz's party with a girl who'd been at Greenham Common – it was Menna that Alex began talking to, fascinated at meeting one of the original Women for Life on Earth. Menna looked an unlikely protester – quiet, neat, reserved, she might have been a bank manager's PA. Probably had been – a lot of the Greenham women were middle-class mums, even grannies. Menna was living history, and Alex was fascinated.

'How do you know Shaz?' said Harry, trying to get a word in.

'We work together,' said Alex, noticing him for the first time.

'You're a copper?'

'Yes. CID.'

'Watch, it Menna – she'll have you in cuffs.' He was only half joking.

An energetic bu t good-natured three-way argument began before Shaz dragged Alex off to meet some more oddballs.

'You've got the most amazing friends, Shaz,' she said as they weaved through the room.

'Thought you'd like them.'

Alex stopped and looked at her, considering. 'But... Chris...?'

Shaz chuckled. 'I know. But he's so sweet... and it's really nice to find a copper who's still got an open mind.' Naive and credulous, more like, thought Alex.

'And he loves me a lot. He'd do pretty much anything for me.'

Shaz gave Alex a naughty, knowing look from under her lashes, with an evil little smile on her lips. Alex barked with laughter and gave Shaz a quick hug. The girl was priceless. Alex really wanted her to exist – the police needed Shazzers.

By midnight Alex was pissed and having a great time with a bunch of lesbians, bitching about ex-husbands, when a dark figure loomed up – Harry the biker.

Then, somehow, they were in the kitchen snogging, and Alex had a fleeting moment of sanity, just long enough to wonder if she was being sensible, before Harry's hands stroked away such tiresome thoughts and she floated off on a hot haze of lust and Rioja, right into the red.

TBC


	3. Bad timing

The following morning was a painful experience. Alex's hangover was punishing, and Gene was in a foul mood, slamming doors and snarling at everyone. Shaz had found a list of files that needed to be compiled and had disappeared into the file room; Chris dematerialised soon afterwards. Ray had taken a carful of the boys to sniff round a goods yard where there'd been sightings of men with guns.

Which left Alex in Gene's line of fire. She tried to melt into the woodwork, keep as still as possible, but look as busy as a DI should be with no new cases to worry about. She tried to concentrate on the paperwork for the Wapping floater, who turned out to be a suicide and of no particular concern to them other than the endless paperwork. Filling in forms, however, was about Alex's limit with a seismic hangover.

Her phone rang. Alex snatched at it, partly to stop it ringing in such an aggressive fashion, and partly to stop it alerting Gene to her presence.

It was Harry. 'Morning, Super.'

'What?' Alex muttered.

'The expected response is "Morning Wonderful",' said Harry. The stunned silence from Alex prompted an explanation. 'Ethel the Frog? Monty Python? Is anybody there?'

'Ah. Yes. Sorry. Python's not really my thing. Hello.'

Harry chuckled. 'Bad head, my lovely?'

'Mmmm. You sound disgustingly chirpy.'

'I managed to throw up on the way home.'

'Yuk. Smartarse.'

'I only phoned to see how you were, and to thank you for your company last night. And to tell you that you're beautiful, and funny, and very sexy. Oh, and to ask you out tonight.'

Alex moaned. 'That's sweet of you, but I can't think that far ahead. Not sure if I'll still have a head by the end of today.'

'There's a Sixties night at the Camden Palace – and you could come back to mine afterwards. I'm only round the corner. Well, -ish.'

'Harry...' Alex was suffering.

But nothing compared to what she suffered in the next instant. A fist crashed on to her desk with enough force to make her eyes fall out of their sockets. 'DI Drake! The telephone is there to help us catch scum and communicate with our colleagues. It is not there for you to further your lurid love life.'

Gene plucked the receiver from Alex's hand, and dropped it on to its cradle, giving Harry an earful. Alex squinted up at him, hoping he could detect the loathing in her expression. 'Do you get pleasure from being so vile?'

'Do you want me to suspend you for being unfit for duty?'

'I don't care. Yes, why don't you? Then I can go home and die in peace.'

'Tough titty. If you can't hold your drink, then ring Alcoholics Anonymous. There's work to do. Get your arse off that chair and into the car. Now!'

Gene swept out of the office, and Alex had to scurry after him, muttering 'What did your last slave die of?' behind his back.

'I heard that, Drake. Not dead, transferred to Bootle. Fancy it?'

xxxxxxxxxxxx

It was Saturday before Alex saw Harry again. He dragged her off to the Camden Palace, which had its regular cops-and-robbers night on. The video of Madness's _Shut Up_ was on the big screen – baddies in striped shirts, masks and flat caps; police doing comedy running with truncheons, Suggs singing like a demented ferret. Harry had got all the two-tone moves, leaving Alex to her own devices until Sting and the Police brought _Roxanne_ into play, and Alex could lead Harry off the floor and upstairs to the bar for a breather. Alex could see Shaz and Chris on the dancefloor, wrapped up in their own little New Romantic world, all hairspray and Goth make-up. And that was just Chris.

Alex turned to look for Harry, and crashed into a tall, thin young man holding two long drinks. Most of the contents of the glasses emptied down Alex's front, although the thin young man got a share. After the inevitable exclamations, apologies and attempted mopping up, the young man introducd himself. 'I'm Matt, by the way.'

'Alex.'

'Are you local? I'm just up from Bristol for the weekend.'

He had an American accent, lots of blond hair and a gleaming smile. He knew how to turn on the charm.

'Am I local? Sort of. Used to be. Hard to explain. What are you doing in Bristol? You sounds more like Brooklyn.'

'Brooklyn? You're kidding – I've never been to New York in my life. Born in DC, raised in Ontario. I'm at Bristol Old Vic theatre school – acting.'

Alex peered at him in the gloom. 'You look just like a young Matt Frewer.'

'Well... yes... that's probably because I'm Matt Frewer – but how much younger should I look? I've only just turned 24 – last week, in fact. Have we met before? Are you a long lost cousin, or something?'

'No. But I know your face. And that voice.'

'How? Not even my parents know my face any more.'

Alex realised she'd got another Tom Robinson moment. She went with it. 'Matt, you're going to do really well in the next few years. I can feel it.' She looked at him meaningfully, and he was transfixed, his blue eyes wide as he absorbed this odd forecast.

'Now this is very important, Matt. When someone wants to talk to you about Max Headroom, in a couple of years' time, say Yes.'

'Maximum headroom?' Matt was frowning with the effort of keeping up with this bizarre conversation.

'Max Headroom. Remember the name. Max Headroom. It's important.'

'How do you know? How can you possibly know?'

Alex just tapped the side of her nose and smiled at him. 'Say yes. Max Headroom. I'm telling you, it's good news.'

Leaving Matt Frewer, who in 1985 would make TV history playing the iconic cyborg on Channel 4, but in January 1982 was somewhat confused, Alex went to find Harry, and her next glass of wine.

For some reason, Alex was still relatively sober at 1am, but Harry was relatively legless, although he had more arms than Colonel Ghadaffi, grabbing Alex in several places at once, and none of them honourable. 'Come home with me, adorable Alex,' he crooned into her ear, before sticking his tongue into it. Alex, who didn't find the soggy contact very seductive, pulled her head away from him. 'Not tonight, Joseph. But thanks.'

'Who's Joseph? Harry, I'm Harry,' he slurred.

'Don't worry your handsome head about it,' said Alex soothingly. 'I'm going home, and you should too.'

They were outside the main entrance, and Alex had her eyes peeled for the orange light of a cab for hire. Harry was continuing his octopus impression, moaning 'Giz a kiss, darling. I love you, Ally. Let me love you...'

He was incredibly drunk, and not very original. Alex prayed for a taxi.

Not only did the god of taxis hear her, but chucked in a bonus, spitting Chris and Shaz out of the club at just that moment. No long in the first flush of young love, the two PCs were happy to share a cab back to Fenchurch East, leaving Harry to weave his way back up Camden High Street; they dropped Alex off outside Luigi's and went on to Chris's flat by Brick Lane.

Alex let herself into the building and trudged upstairs to the second floor – where she found Gene, sitting on the landing with his back to her front door, asleep. She nudged his thigh with her foot. 'Oi, Gene. Wake up.'

He opened one eye, muttered something unintelligible, and returned to sleep. Alex nudged him a bit harder, with a marked lack of success.

'Oh, fandabbybloodydozy. I leave one pissed idiot behind, and come home to another. Wake UP, Gene!' she hissed at him, not wanting to wake Luigi and his long-suffering wife.

Alex grabbed Gene's hand and tugged him. 'Oi, Rumpelstiltskin - wake up, you arse! I want to go to bed...'

'OK, woman, no need to shout. I'll come to bed...' Gene rumbled.

Alex guessed that Luigi had taken Gene's keys off him and sent him upstairs to beg the use of the sofa to sleep off an industrial amount of whisky, from the smell of him. Now that there was evidence of life, she prodded and pulled at him till – with a mighty effort, she got him to stand up. He was not quite capable of standing unaided; Alex had to lean against him to keep him pinned to the doorjamb, so she could open the door. Gene uttered a drunken laugh and sang 'I'm leaning on a lamppost...' but got no further, as the front door opened, and they both fell through it. Alex just avoided being dragged down by Gene as he landed on all fours, but she tripped over him, stumbled to her knees and ended up clutched to Gene's chest as he lay on his back, giggling. 'Gotcha, Bollykecks. I'm arresting you for aggravated assault on a senior officer.' Or that's what he was trying to say – what emerged was somewhat less coherent.

Alex swore, softly but fluently, and struggled to escape Gene's clutches. He just clutched her tighter. Alex tried another tack. 'Gene, come on, let's go to bed,' she whispered in seductives tones.

That worked.

'Bed? Lead me on, you tart.' He let her up, and let her help him stagger to the sofa, where he collapsed. Flinging his arms wide, he roared: 'I'm all yours, darlin'! Be gentle with me,' he added in a stage whisper.

Another one full of original wit, thought Alex sourly, as she fetched a couple of blankets from the wardrobe. She dragged off his boots, but opted to leave him fully clothed under the blankets. Gene gripped her arm and pulled her down to him so she was sitting on the edge of the sofa. 'You been stood up too? Never mind, Bolls. You and me, stick together, eh...' He squeezed her hand, and was asleep.

Alex shook her head, and gently brushed his hair back from his forehead, then leant down to plant a feather's touch of a kiss on his brow.

'Sleep well, you great lummox.'

She went gratefully to her own bed, and slept dreamlessly until she was woken by the sound of the front door closing quietly. She looked at the clock – just after 6am – then went straight back to sleep.

When she got up, the sofa was empty, the blankets folded neatly: her lodger had done a dawn flit.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

By the time Alex got into work, her lodger had obviously forgotten where he'd lodged, or had had a handy attack of amnesia. Gene was in a foul mood again: yelled at Chris for being a Stockport County spastic, snarled at Shaz for having failed to buy more biscuits, shouted down the phone at some poor secretary at Division HQ, and avoided Alex entirely. Fine, she thought. Sod you, you ungrateful git.

She was left to her own devices till teatime, when the ungrateful git loomed up and stuck his face over her desk, glowering. 'Drake, you've been suspiciously quiet today. Tell me you've solved at least one crime while sitting on your first class arse, and I'll let you live.'

They glared at each other for a very long moment, while Alex's temper simmered, then rose towards boiling point. 'DCI Hunt – a word, in your office,' she hissed. Gene straightened up and gestured her ahead of him. He shut the door behind him and leaned against it, arms folded defensively. He looked down his nose at Alex in his most supercilious manner, which was enough to raise her temper another couple of degrees. But with enough cool left to remember how clearly every expletive could be heard through the glass, she kept her voice low and menacing.

'You really are a piece of work, Gene...'

The throaty growl made every hair stand up on the back of his neck, and it created unnecessary pictures in his head, X-rated images that would have made a Soho sleaze merchant proud.

'... you're a boorish, domineering, thoughtless Philistine, with no respect for your colleagues, no sense of propriety, and no appreciation of your friends – you don't even know who your real friends are because you're so convinced you're the Big I-am, Manc Lion, Gene Genie, Lord High Mighty-Bollocks...' she waggled her fingers in the manner guaranteed to piss him off. '... and when someone does you a favour, you don't even have the grace or the courtesy to acknowledge it.' An ironic little laugh escaped her. 'Of course the words "Thank you" are completely out of the question since the world and everyone in it should consider it a privilege and an honour to leap to your command and pander to your every whim...'

She ran out of puff and glared at him, waiting for the inevitable scathing response. But Gene's face didn't betray a scintilla of what he was thinking, and he simply opened the door to let Alex out. She was gobsmacked – he was dismissing her like a disgraced kitchenmaid, not worth wasting breath on. Her face flaming with rage and humiliation, Alex flounced past him, snatched up her jacket, and blew out of the office like a tornado. Papers fluttered from their in-trays and fluttered to the floor in the wake of her passing, and for a second or so there was complete stillness, before a brave detective let out a faint catcall and the place dissolved into laughter.

It didn't last more than an instant, since Gene stood in his doorway, an atmosphere of threat rippling through the air around him. Work became of paramount interest, and Gene returned to his desk, satisfied that the team were hot on the trail of London pondlife.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Alex stormed across to Luigi's and was about to run upstairs, when Luigi emerged from the basement door and called up to her.

'Signorina Drake, I have something for you. Come...'

She obeyed, thinking that maybe she could do with a drink, despite it being only 4.30pm. When she got to the bar, Luigi presented her with a tissue-wrapped bunch of flowers – a dozen yellow roses. 'They arrived first thing. And here is a card, look,' said the Italian, dying to know who had sent his favourite such a token of regard.

Alex opened the card, expecting to see Harry's name – but it was a long note in familiar writing, and she put a hand over her eyes, unable to face the implications.

_'Alex – thanks, and apologies. Hope you'll give me some credit for not trying to drive home. Gene'_

Oh god...

'You've got them, then.'

Gene's voice made Alex jump, and she could feel her face flaming. She could barely look at him, exquisitely embarrassed, with nowhere to hide. But his eyes were elsewhere, watching Luigi in the kitchen doorway, avoiding her gaze.

'Gene... they're really beautiful – thank you. I'm so, so sorry for what I said before...' she trailed off, at a loss. Gene nodded, looked at her briefly, then away.

'It's OK. I thought they'd arrive before you left for work. That's why I didn't say anything this morning. Thought you'd got the note...'

Luigi poured two measures of single malt and pushed them across the bar. Alex said quickly: 'This is on me.'

They raised their glasses to one another. 'To communication,' said Alex, with a wry smile. 'To you,' replied her boss. They clinked glasses, and drank, the awkward moment past.

'So, Bolls – what were you up to last night? Anything printable?'

'Camden Palace – cops and robbers night. I met Max Headroom. Well, he will be... er, Max...' she tailed off, realising she was making no sense to her 1981 listener. 'Madness, the Police – you know the kind of thing.'

'Yup. Policing's mad, all right, Bolly.'

There was a tiny silence. Alex looked up at him, but Gene's eyes were on the roses, lying on the bar between them. 'Gene – I really am sorry. I was wrong. Forgive me..'

Gene still didn't look at her. 'It wasn't all wrong, Alex. So there's not much to forgive.'

Alex's heart lurched. He could take the breath from her body sometimes. She touched his arm briefly; he caught her hand before she could pull back, lifted it to his lips for the lightest of kisses, and caught her with a look that turned her bones to jelly.

'Gene…' she whispered.

But whatever else she was about to say was smothered by the sound of high heels clattering down the steps, and a whirl of red silk. 'Gene, darling...' Miranda stretched up to kiss his cheek, and he kissed her back.

'Hello – it's Alice, isn't it?' Miranda was all charity.

'Hello, Amanda.' She couldn't resist, but it earned her a look from Gene.

He drained his glass and planted it on the bar with a clunk. 'Right. shall we?' and taking Miranda's arm, marched her out of the bar without another word, leaving Alex alone with her yellow roses.

TBC


	4. Frustration

_WARNING: This story has now been changed to M rating._

xxxxxxxx

No-one was very happy the following morning – even love's young dream was having a day off, leaving Shaz and Chris not talking to each other. Alex, who'd had an early night to catch up on sleep, hadn't slept much, her brain tormenting her with endless rehashing of her one-sided row with Gene, and its cringe-making consequences. The yellow roses had been a bittersweet prompt, forcing Alex to wonder for the millionth time if she could trust her instincts or if he was playing games with her. Sometimes she was convinced that he and Ray – and possibly the entire team – had taken bets on when she'd give in to him. Other times she didn't believe he'd be that cruel, although she had no illusions about Ray – the sergeant had never made a secret of his opinion of her.

And Miranda – what was going on there? The woman was a black widow spider, and Alex didn't know whether she saw Gene as prey or breeding material. Either way, he was toast. Alex wasn't jealous – she had no right to be jealous – but she didn't want to see him hurt. Certainly not by that flinty-eyed blonde harpy. Gene said, when he was legless and crashed on her sofa, that he'd been stood up. _In vino veritas_... But Miranda seemed so keen from the off, flirting so outrageously that it was more like soliciting. Gene wasn't behaving like a man getting good sex, but what did she know? He was a private person – forever boasting about his legendary prowess with women, but not saying much about the people in his life, and never mentioning these hordes of women by name.

Alex didn't know what to think, didn't even know what she felt about Gene. She was attracted to men like Harry – cool, bright, self-aware, focused and very beautiful; a man for the future. That's what she thought she'd married, but she'd been wrong. Her beautiful husband had not taken long to peel off his beautiful mask and reveal the reptile beneath. Sometimes she worried that Molly had inherited that cold, hard personality – her daughter could be scarily hard-nosed, her piercing intelligence seeing straight through Alex's parental strategems, and her shatteringly direct assessments of Alex's boyfriends. Molly was always right, too. Alex kept finding liars and losers – she didn't have to use much of her psychologist's training to work out what that said about her.

But in the face of all that, Alex was drawn to Gene in ways she didn't understand. He was a mystery – not her construct, but no longer Sam's, either. What was he doing in her head? Was he the key to her future, and if so, how? What was she meant to do with him? Sam couldn't destroy him – chose Gene's world over his own. But that wasn't going to happen with her. Not with Molly to go home to. If she wasn't dead already, and stuck here with him. For a blinding instant, Alex longed to have the choice taken away, so she could reach out... No. Couldn't happen. Could it? She couldn't get her head round it, and fell asleep about five minutes before her alarm went off.

No hangover, then, but fuzzy from lack of sleep, Alex was no more alive than the rest of them – like the whole office was in thick fog. Even the phones were unusually silent. Must be a sunspot, she thought, watching Gene staring into space, feet up on his desk.

Gene was in limbo, and he didn't like it. He didn't know what he felt, didn't know what to do about it, didn't want to do anything except go and get blind drunk, and that was alcoholic territory. He could see Alex at her desk, head down over a file, not reading it. At least she'd not turned a page for half an hour.

Mooning over this bastard Harry, no doubt. Whoever the hell he was, and whatever he thought he had to do with her. Couldn't be that blond Toryboy she'd fucked – that was months ago, and she hadn't twanged his braces again. he looked more like a Tarquin than a Harry, anyway. Big girl's blouse.

That image took Gene to thoughts of Miranda, last night, red silk revealing deep cleavage, milky skin and surprising strength. As he'd begun to peel back the silk and explore her breasts, she shoved him back against the cushions of her leather settee, and took him in hand. Literally. It didn't take her long – he'd been too long without a woman, and she knew what she was doing. She'd held his gaze, her eyes glittering like a predator, her hands efficient and clever, stroking and squeezing till he came, out of control and helpless to resist her.

It should have led on to more, energetic, muscular, even brutal sex, but as he lay against the leather, sweating and dazed, her phone rang. Despite his urging her to ignore it, she obeyed its summons; she spoke a few words and hung up, but it was clear the evening was over. Work, she'd said. You know how it is, she'd said. Sorry, darling, she'd said.

She didn't exactly push him out of the door with his flies gaping, but he was out and the door shut behind him within two minutes. For a woman who'd virtually bent over for him when they were first introduced, she was slow to deliver on her unstated promises. That first night, after vamping like a pro over drinks and food designed to tease, she'd led him slowly upstairs, and undressed him button by tortuous button, rubbing herself against him till he was ready to burst. When the phone rang, she had one hand on his arse and the other on his cock, biting his shoulder and growling like a kitten with a prize morsel in its grasp. The phone rang twice, then stopped just before the third ring. Miranda had ignored it, but when it rang again almost immediately, she panicked, pushing Gene's clothes at him and wittering about warning codes. Five minutes, she'd said, shoving him towards the stairs even as he tried to get his trousers back on. Half dressed, with shirt tails flapping and his tie in his pocket, he'd got in the car and driven round the corner, then stopped where he could still see her front door. Frustrated beyond measure, he tossed himself off quickly, then waited to see who turned up. He'd waited for more than half an hour, but not a living soul walked down Theberton Street.

Then two nights ago he'd waited for Miranda outside the Barbican, where they were due to see Barbara Dixon in concert. Front row tickets, and all. She hadn't showed up, and Gene retreated to home ground, taking refuge at Luigi's. But there was no-one else there – even Bolly was out, presumably with that tosser Harry. So Gene had worked his way through a bottle of scotch, with only Luigi for company. Well, there were plenty of punters in, but no-one he wanted to know. Having promised himself whisky-fuelled oblivion, he'd given Luigi his car keys with strict instructions not to let him have them back till the next day. He'd no intention of drinking responsibly that night. And instead of taking a cab home, he'd made Luigi let him upstairs to wait for Alex. That was a success.

Gene shook his head, unwilling to relive that little story. That was a dead end. He took his feet off the desk, stood up and grabbed his coat. No more of this navel-gazing psycho-shite.

'Carling! Drake! Car.' Cutting through the woolly silence like a buzz saw, Gene's voice galvanised the office, and broke the spell. Ray and Alex leapt to their feet, relieved to be doing something. Anything.

TBC


	5. New directions

Feeling better out of the office, Alex knew Gene had just needed to break through the pervading gloom. But it was a wild goose chase: there'd been nothing doing at the goods yard. Whoever was using the place as a stash had scarpered, and even the rodents seemed to be co-operative, one showing its respect for the law by running over Ray's foot. He squawked, and tried – in vain – to kick it.

Alex chided him: 'Ray – tsk, tsk. It wasn't doing anything wrong. Obviously liked you. Probably attracted to your perm.'

Gene had to suppress a grin and turn away. Ray looked murderous.

'Roland? Errol? Oooeee!' called Alex. The two men stopped and looked at her, aghast. She'd finally flipped.

'Who are you calling?' asked Gene, hesitantly. Alex's expression said he had asked a stupid question.

'Roland Rat – who'd you think, dimbo?'

'Roland... Rat? Mmm. Your childhood pet? Stuffed toy? New boyfriend?' Gene looked at Ray, and they made 'nuts' faces at each other.

'Oh, come on. Roland Rat, rodent superstar. TV-am? Wincey Willis?'

'You need a holiday, Bolls. Nice quiet padded cell. Come on, there's no-one here but us chickens. Let's go and see if the children have trashed the office.'

The children, predictably, were playing darts, scratching their arses and scoffing biscuits. Gene barked at them, and papers were shuffled, phones snatched up, brows furrowed.

So the work of protecting the public continued till beer o'clock, when Gene swept out of the office, gathering up Alex as he went. Outside the station, a large motorbike was parked at the kerb, with a large man standing beside it.

'Bloody hell, a Harley...' said Chris, with reverence.

'Shovelhead,' added Ray, respectfully.

'Are you referring to the motorcycle, or PC Pillock here, Raymondo?' Gene stood at the top of the steps watching his officers ogling the machine like hyenas might watch a wildebeest.

'Hi, Harry.' Alex walked over to the bike's owner and kissed him lightly – an action which snared the attention of DCI Hunt. He strolled down the steps and made a leisurely circuit of the bike and its owner, giving both the once-over. Having noted the shiny black hair, athletic body and easy manner, Gene scrutinised the stranger's face. 'Aren't you going to introduce us, Bolly?' Gene spoke to Alex, but didn't take his eyes off the younger man.

'Gene Hunt... Harry Haggerty,' said Alex, amused at the two men eyeing each other like timberwolves, acknowledging each other without giving anything away.

Harry broke into a toothy grin, and held out a spare helmet to Alex. 'Come on, lovely. Time to go.' He climbed back on the bike and put his helmet on, waiting for his passenger.

Alex hadn't expected him, had no idea where they were going, and didn't particularly want to go anywhere with anyone, having looked forward to a normal night chez Luigi. But she wasn't about to show Harry up in front of such a critical audience. She zipped up her leather jacket, crammed on the crash helmet, and swung her leg over the pillion saddle, putting her arms round Harry's waist. The engine fired, the unmistakable roar of the Harley engine bouncing off the buildings; Alex spread her fingers in a gesture of farewell and was whisked off for her surprise evening. Chris stared after them, his mouth agape, his estimation of DI Drake having risen yet again. Ray looked faintly disgusted, and turned away to light another fag.

Gene watched the bikers till they turned the corner, and just a little longer, before collecting his thoughts, and the boys, and headed across to prop up Luigi's bar.

xxxxxxxxxx

Gene had a surprise of his own two hours later, when Miranda clattered into the bar in kitten heels and skin tight crimson jersey. Gene, morose and antisocial, was in no mood for her, but Miranda was not to be denied, and after twenty minutes of shameless flirting she had woken his body enough for him to ignore the warning bells in his head.

As Gene drove them north to Islington, he wondered what Alex and biker boy were up to. Miranda was chattering about food, her hand touching his when he changed gear, or resting lightly on his knee. Suddenly her hand snaked along his thigh, all the way up to his backside, and he jumped, almost losing control of the car.

'Christ! Keep off the arse, love, or we'll not make it to yours in one piece.' Miranda pulled her hand away and folded her arms, pouting like a teenager thwarted by authority. Gene noticed that folding her arms like that gave her a stonking cleavage, and judging by her face, Miranda knew it.

Gene didn't trust this woman further than he could throw himself, but he badly needed a guilt-free fuck, and she was offering. It would be churlish to refuse, especially as she was so insistent. Anyway, his todger was so underemployed that he expected Maggie's goons round to escort it to the Jobcentre before long. Join the queue, mate, there's only three million other bastards out of luck and ahead of you. Gene felt his todger quiver at the thought of work ahead.

Bob a job.

He accelerated into the corner at the Angel and almost clipped a 73 bus trundling up to Stoke Newington. Jinking to the left of the bus as it turned up Essex Road, Gene had to slam on the brakes for a red light. A flash of white caught his eye and he saw Alex, laughing, looking relaxed, hand in hand with bikerboy, going into the Screen on the Green.

Miranda yelped as the Quattro leapt forward, through the red light and almost into a black cab. 'Gene! I'm flattered you're so eager, darling, but sex while in traction is no fun...'

Gene growled, which Miranda took as a lover's response, stroking his wrist. She was wrong, but Gene was in no mood to correct her. He turned left into Theberton Street and parked. He said nothing until they were in the house, then grabbed at Miranda, kissing her with passion, or fury, or somewhere between.

Miranda pushed him away, protesting, laughing. 'Darling! We've got all night... Let's have a drink, and a bite of dinner. Then...' she growled like a terrier, showing her teeth.

Gene put his arms round her, kissing her neck. 'Fuck dinner. Let's fuck. Want to fuck you now...'

'Darling. No hurry.' She pulled away from him, snapping. 'No!'

Gene held up both hands. 'OK. OK. You're the boss.'

Miranda stroked his arm, purring. 'Poor darling. So eager. I like that...' She towed him to the kitchen, poured him a generous single malt and pushed him on to a stool at the breakfast bar. 'Sit there and watch. I like a voyeur.'

She fed him by hand, bits of overpriced foreign crap, none of it worth eating. After a lump of something tasting of mould, Gene pushed Miranda's hand away and stood up.

'Come on. Let's go to bed.' He drew her to him, his arms round her waist, but she was resisting, bending backwards to avoid his kiss.

'You're in a strange mood tonight, darling. Can't a girl expect a little courtship?'

Gene pulled her closer. 'You were quick enough to offer when we met. You were quick enough to pull me off the other night, so why the virginal act tonight? Got the decorators in?'

Miranda pushed him off her. 'I'm just not ready, all right? Tell you what, I'll put some music on. Might relax me a bit,' she said, batting her eyelashes at him. Gene sighed, and flung himself on the huge leather couch. Miranda fiddled around with the stereo, and the reedy voice of Demis Roussos filled the room. The noise set Gene's teeth on edge.

'Fat Greek bloke in a purple dress? Sings like a girl. No.'

Miranda looked sour, but changed the record. _Silver Lady_. 'David Soul all right for you, darling?'

Gene shrugged. _I can give you soul_. 'Fine. Now come here.' He grabbed her hand and pulled her down on to the couch. He muttered into her neck: 'You want a man with a slow hand...'

Miranda moaned and writhed beneath Gene's mouth, but she wouldn't kiss him, throwing her head back and groaning, pulling him down to her throat, her breasts, her belly. He ran his tongue over her skin, sucking and nibbling at her flesh, one hand running up her leg till he found her stocking top and the silky skin above it. At his touch, Miranda convulsed and wriggled so she lay on her side, pushing Gene on to his back and unzipping him, slipping her hand in to cup his balls, trail her hand along his shaft, grip, squeeze...

Gene groaned with the intoxicating pleasure of it, then heard with utter disbelief the sound of the sodding phone, felt Miranda climb over him to answer it. He felt something dark rise and fill his head; in a second he was on his feet, snatching the phone from Miranda's hand, ripping the jack out of the socket, flinging the bloody thing aside. He towered over her, gripped her arms, snarled at her. 'You're playing a dangerous game, _darling_. And I'm not your toy.'

Gene forced his mouth over hers, kissed her, one arm round her back, the other hand behind her head, holding her so he could attack and raid her mouth, ignoring her struggling against him.

When she bit him, he flung her away from him and she landed on the couch, mewing in distress. Gene put a hand to his lip – she'd drawn blood. He looked down at her, disgusted with himself, hating her.

'So, darling, you are a man. I was beginning to wonder...' Miranda laughed, a dirty, salacious cackle, and licked her lips, looking at him like he was lunch. She was on all fours on the cream leather, her mouth open, clothing gaping, breasts on show, a deadly vamp. He stood, relentless, unmoving, while she put her hands out and took fistfuls of Gene's shirt, pulling herself up till she could bite his chin. Gene snapped, and they joined battle, snarling, biting, ripping fabric, grunting, scratching, fighting for control, hips grinding, thrusting, anger and spite pouring out of them in sweat and lust, till they were spent.

With a foot and both hands, Miranda shoved Gene off the couch. 'Time to fuck off now, darling. You're no more use to me tonight. I'll ring you when I want you, and then you come running, because I own you now. I've put my stamp on you.'

Gene got to his knees, grabbed her wrist, and forced Miranda's head to one side. Kissing her neck just beneath the ear, he bit and sucked hard as she squealed and tried to kick him. He gave her a dangerous smile, his sea-green eyes glittering. 'Don't call my bluff, love. No-one owns me. I think you'll find you've been branded.'

Gene stood, gathered his clothes, dressed as she lay watching. As he left the house, he muttered to himself. 'Marked.'

xxxxxxxxxxxx

No-one dared comment the next morning when Gene arrived looking as if he'd been bested by a Breville toaster and a meat tenderiser, with a swollen lip, marks on his chin, a scratch beside his eye and another along his jaw visible above his collar. Speculation fuelled the gossip like aviation fuel on a barbecue; CID sizzled with rumours, and Gene didn't utter a hint of an objection, which the gossips took as tacit acknowledgement of every wild theory.

Alex listened; said nothing. She kept an eye on Gene, but he was lurking behind his stone face, giving nothing away.

When they coincided at the kettle, Gene smiled at her. 'All right, Bolly?'

'Hundred per cent,' she said. 'A good night, then?'

'Top hole, Bollykecks. Very nice. Very romantic. Yes. A sweet girl, Miranda.'

At lunchtime, Gene took a posse off in one direction, and Alex took Shaz and Ray in another, after more answers at Grey Seal Greases.

By the time they got back, Gene's lot were over at Luigi's; Ray and Shaz joined them downstairs and Alex went up to get ready for her evening out. Later, feeling in need of a confidence boost, Alex went down to the bar to wait for Harry; her appearance stopped the conversation. In a sleeveless dress of peacock blue sunpleated silk skimming her body from collar bone to ankle, her hair up in a knot, she looked like Cleopatra. Gene got to his feet, poured her a glass of wine and handed it to her. Raising his own glass to her, he offered her a toast. 'To you. You look beautiful, Alex. I hope he appreciates it.'

She was speechless. Before she could collect even one thought to respond to him, Harry sauntered into the bar, urbane in black tie, a hint of dark stubble providing the raffish edge on the establishment uniform. They looked good together, there was no denying it.

Shaz hurried over. 'Harry!' She reached up and kissed him, then turned to Alex. 'You look gorrrrrgeous,' she drawled. 'Eh, Harry? you owe me big time.'

The lucky man kissed Shaz, threw a triumphant smile in Gene's direction, and put Alex's wrap round her shoulders. 'Come on, you dragonfly. Time to shimmer off.'

It was a pleasant evening. A late Burns Night dinner at a big house in Hampstead, given by a theatrical couple, Dhugal and Sandor – designer and actor, respectively. They had gone to town with tartan and wrought iron in a way that should have been in excruciatingly bad taste, but was surprisingly effective, and the food was excellent. Haggis, neeps and tatties were never promising, but whoever lurked in the kitchen deserved a medal for reinventing the tradition.

Sandor, on meeting Alex, promoted her immediately to his right hand at the table, declaring her 'the most beautiful creature in the house', so Harry was stuck with Sandor's mother, a Hungarian countess with limited English and a wild laugh. Alex was monopolised by Sandor at dinner, and besieged by every man in the building before and after. She basked in the attention, but by midnight the cocktail of whisky and outrageous compliments had gone to her head, and she wanted Harry to take her home.

Harry, however, was knee-deep in women of a certain age, fielding light flirtation and deflecting blatant suggestion with charm; and his fan club wasn't going to let him go without a fight. Alex surrendered him with good grace and slipped away to find a quiet spot for ten minutes of peace. Too cold for the garden, she found a high-backed sofa in a cosy room away from the noise. She curled up and gazed out at the blackness beyond the window, and gave in to thoughts that she'd kept at bay all evening: a few seconds, there in Luigi's, when Gene had said she was beautiful... and when he'd kissed her hand...

A tall figure trod silently across the carpet, out of the darkness, and sat by her on the sofa, their shoulders touching.

'What on earth are you doing here...?'

'I'm everywhere, Bolly.'

He took her hand, laced his fingers through hers, held it to his lips. 'My love...' he murmured, taking her in his arms and kissing her with infinite tenderness, until the passion flared, and all rational thought was drowned in the white heat of desire, stoked by so many lonely nights...

'Ah! there you are, Alex. Harry's lost you – feared you'd run out on him.' Dhugal chuckled, amused at finding the belle of the ball snoozing in the study. 'As if any red blooded girl could abandon the delectable Harry,' he added with a conspiratorial smirk.

Alex was grateful for the half light hiding her blushes, waking from such a cheesy little fantasy. She was a working mother in her thirties, a hard-nosed, world-weary police officer, for god's sake, not an adolescent virgin in a Mills & Boon fluff-fest. It was nice, though. Very. Very...

'Sorry, Dhugal – it's been a long day at the coal face, and I've had one too many of your glorious single malts,' she smiled, getting to her feet. 'Is Harry still in one piece? I left him surrounded by Maenads.'

Dhugal hooted. 'Darling! You're so precious...! You must come again, preferably move in. Don't suppose you'd like to marry the two of us, by any great stroke of good fortune?' He gave her a smacking kiss and a hug.

Laughing, Alex returned his kiss. 'In a hot-split minute, Dhugal. If Sandor agrees I can move in almost immediately.'

They returned to the fray, arm in arm, and were pounced on by Harry, no longer able to handle the ravening hordes of hormonal women. After the round of extravagant farewells, they were pushed into a taxi and sent on their way.

Alex put up no resistance to being led to Harry's flat. She was lonely, in desperate need of a little tender loving, aching for something – someone – she couldn't have, and now prepared to accept what she was offered. She'd refused Harry on the night of the party – even in a Rioja haze she had, in the end, gone to bed alone. She'd been told once before, and ignored the advice, and had to face the consequences. But now there was no reason to refuse.

It was a pleasant night. Harry was a gentle, considerate lover, bringing her sweetly to orgasm twice before they fell asleep; the last thing Alex heard was Harry's voice, whispering into her hair. 'Don't worry, angel. I'll keep you safe...'

TBC


	6. Wounds

'A pinch and a punch for the first of the month...' Shaz giggled as she carried out the sentence on Alex's arm, then skidded off to find another victim.

February had dawned wet and Arctic, blowing Alex across the street to the station that Monday morning. CID was in a warm fug, blanketed from the chill reality of London's underworld inside the concrete and steel womb of Fenchurch East. Its denizens were having a quiet morning as the scum of the manor were apparently deterred by the winter weather from disturbing the peace.

Gene was immersed in _King of the Kippax_, happily removed to Maine Road in spirit, flicking through the magazine's pages and dreaming of a different outcome to last summer's FA Cup final; one where Spurs crashed to a humiliating defeat, so that Gene, sweaty and exhausted in his blue kit, the captain's armband round his biceps, could climb the endless steps at Wembley to take the beautiful Cup from Prince Charles and flaunt it to the delirious thousands roaring their pride and triumph...

'Guv – there's trouble at t'mill.'

'Do you mind, Drake? Taking the piss out of my accent is neither funny nor clever.'

'I wasn't...' Alex tutted, exasperated. 'I'll start again, shall I? Someone's called in about hearing shots at Prospect Mill. Uniform are on their way. Shall we follow? Or shall I call the Flying Squad?' She beamed at him provocatively.

'Do better with the Flying Circus,' Gene muttered. 'All right, Drake, get your coat – you've pulled.' He dropped his fan mag on the desk and gathered up coat, car keys and posse on his way to the door.

Prospect Mill, empty for nearly ten years, was an old rice mill in Monza Street, between Shadwell Basin and the river. When the Quattro slid to a stop with its nose under the white police tape, plods were trying to shoo away a bunch of overexcited kids and, to one side, a frightened-looking knot of women.

Gene went across to speak to Inspector Minnion, a grizzled copper, cynical as all hell and miserable with it. Alex went over to the women, who all launched into the story at once. Alex shushed them and picked the calmest to explain.

'It's Ronnie and Steve – they've got guns. We heard shots. My Ashley's in there – Kevin saw him sneaking in...' She nodded towards the kids, a bunch of young adolescents. Short and skinny and looking not much more than a teenager herself, she was on the verge of tears, but was holding herself together.

'What's your name?'

'Sally Waugh.'

'Ashley – how old is he?' asked Alex.

'Fourteen next week,' said his mother. 'Ronnie's my little brother.'

'Ronnie who?'

'Ronnie Waugh. He's married to Julie,' she jerked her head at the snivelling bottle blonde standing next to her, 'who's been shagging Steve Ford. Stupid slag!' she shouted at the pathetic Julie. 'Ronnie found them this morning when he got in from night shift and it all kicked off.'

'Do you know what guns they've got?'

'Course I bloody don't. If I knew they had guns I'd have castrated them, stupid bastards. Not shotguns. Small – like their dicks. Pistol things. I don't know what they're called.'

A favourite haunt of local brats, who found ways of getting in despite all efforts to keep them out, the mill had been emptied of most plant and equipment, but it was used for storage, so there were crates and packing cases lying around, and the tanks and silos on the upper floors were still welded to the steel galleries.

Gene, Alex, Ray and Chris squeezed through the gap in the rusty steel doors, treading carefully over broken timbers and detritus. Gene sent Chris and Ray off to work silently round the edges, trying to get behind the gunmen. Gene nodded at Alex, who walked forward a couple of steps, her arms held wide.

'Ronnie? Steve? My name's Alex. I'm a police officer. I'm here to help, just to talk. I'm not armed. I just want to get you both out of here without anyone getting hurt.'

In the white leather jacket, Alex looked so vulnerable, a shining target in the shafts of light from the high windows, her breath clouding in the freezing air. Gene was close behind her, his eyes flicking everywhere, every sense tuned to the slightest movement that could mean danger for her.

'He's gone mad – he tried to shoot me...' The voice was high, wobbly with fear, coming from the stacks of wooden crates.

'Steve? It's OK. It's almost over. If you put your gun down, and kick it away from you, we're half way there. Do it now, Steve.'

After a moment, a gun came sliding across the floor into a pool of oil and sawdust.

The next eight seconds were a bloody blur: a hideous noise as the other gun was fired from up on the gallery, thirty feet above their heads, the sound magnified and echoing in the empty space. The bullet tore into a crate, sending splinters everywhere. There was a scream from behind the crate, and before anyone else could move, a body flung itself from the deep shadows below the window.

'Ronnie! Uncle Ronnie! Stop! Stop it, please!'

It was Ashley, running into deadly space. Alex and Gene were yelling at him to get back, get down. Another gunshot, and Ashley was on the ground, struggling to stand up, falling on his side, moaning. A shout from the gallery: 'Ashley! You stupid little sod! Ford, you cunt – I'll bloody kill you!' Another gunshot, more splinters, another frightened scream from the hidden target.

Alex was on her feet, arms waving, running to Ashley, yelling. 'Don't shoot! Stop, for god's sake – he's hurt!'

She flung herself on her knees, wrapping the boy in her arms and trying to keep him still, shushing him like the terrified child he was.

Gene, only feet behind her, skidded to a halt, putting his body between them and the gunman, his arms held wide, facing down the gun. 'Don't... just don't. We're not armed. Stop it now. For god's sake, you've done enough...'

There was a click from the gun's empty chamber; a moment later a small dark object hurtled down from the gallery. Gene dropped to his knees, clutching his head as a chunk of twisted, rusty metal clattered to the ground beside him.

'Gene...!'

'I'm OK, Bolls,' he muttered. 'Thick skull. All right...'

Sounds of a scuffle above their heads, grunting and cursing, then Ray's voice. 'Got him, Guv! ... keep still, shithead,' and the dull thud of a fist hitting flesh.

Gene turned to see Alex holding the dying boy, a scrawny, leggy kid with the beginnings of acne on his face, and blood smeared in his ash blonde hair. Gene reached out, brushed the hair back from the boy's eyes, wide open and staring at something no-one else could see, as he panted for life. Gene glanced at Alex, then staggered to his feet, lurching to the door yelling for back-up.

'Get the mother in here – now!'

Sally Waugh sprinted towards him, screaming her son's name; the ambulance men, already there, were running after her. Gene grabbed Sally and, his arms around her, led her over to Ashley, where Alex was waiting. Handing the boy gently into his mother's arms, Alex took Gene's outstretched hand and stood up. She was soaked in the boy's blood, tears streaming down her face.

Gene, blood in one eye from the cut on his head, pulled Alex to him and they stood together watching Sally Waugh wail over the body of her child, as Chris pulled Ford from his hiding place, and Ray dragged Ashley's killer down the metal staircase, out to the waiting squad cars.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Gene was standing by the sink, swigging whisky, as Shaz tried to dab at his forehead with a lint swab. She could barely reach, and Gene kept pulling his head away, reluctant to be nursed.

'Shaz, bugger off,' he said softly. Shaz handed the swab to Alex and buggered off, with a knowing smile for Alex.

'Gene, sit down.'

Gene ignored her. Alex grabbed his shoulders and pushed him down into the waiting chair. He only just avoided spilling his Scotch.

'Christ, woman, you missed your calling. You'd make a fortune as a dominatrix.'

'Ah. So that's your cup of tea, is it?' she retorted, sweetly. And was astonished to see a dull flush spread over Gene's face. 'Oh! yes, I see it is...' She chuckled, then growled at him, tigerishly, and laughed again at the loathing on his face.

'Bloody women. Should all be locked up.'

After damping a fresh swab under the warm tap, Alex put her left hand on top of Gene's head in an attempt to make him sit still, and began gently to wipe the dried blood from his forehead and left eyebrow.

'Ow. Ow! Great rough hands you've got. Go easy,' he whinged.

'Don't be such a child...'

Alex's hands began to shake so much she had to stop and lean back against the counter top. 'Poor kid. That poor woman...' she whispered, tears in her eyes as she looked at Gene, the shock of the memory overwhelming. Gene stood up, reached out a hand, unable to see her so distressed again and not do something, anything, to help her. But she put up both hands to stop him.

'No, I'm fine. I'm fine, really. Sit.'

'Alex...

'Sit.'

She picked up another swab and resumed her first aid. She worked in silence, both of them reliving the morning's catastrophic events.

Alex put a hand beneath Gene's jaw. 'Put your head back a bit.'

Gene looked up, straight into her eyes. Her hands stilled for a moment as they stared at each other, both thinking how close they'd come.

'That was such a stupid thing to do. He would have shot you. Big enough bloody target...' her voice dropped to a whisper, her hand on his cheek.

'Pot and kettle, Bolls,' he murmured, his hand going to her waist.

'Good god, are you all right, DI Drake? Hunt?

The Chief Super saw his two quarrelsome officers both covered in blood – he'd been told the DCI had been injured, but no-one had said anything about his very own pet Maggie Forbes being hurt.

Gene was on his feet, Alex a yard away from him, both looking faintly guilty.

'Fine, sir,' they chorused. Alex smiled nervously, indicating her dramatic appearance. 'Not mine, sir. The victim's...'

'Yes, dreadful business. But it might have been a lot worse.' The Chief Super stood to one side. 'Doc Stock's here to have a look at you, Hunt. Glad you're both all right. Well done.' He sloped off, leaving the police surgeon to examine Gene's head. Alex sloped off, too, getting a vengeful look from Gene for abandoning him to the ruthless Owen Stock, a man not known for his patience.

Irate squawks from the kitchen, as Stock put a couple of stitches in the head wound, guaranteed the Guv was going to be in a vile mood once released from the quack's clutches; so when Gene finally emerged from the torture chamber, only Ray was still in the office. Gene poured them both a Scotch and they sat in silence, no words needed after so many years.

xxxxxxxx

Alex reappeared a couple of hours later, the evidence of the morning's violence erased. The white jacket had been sent to the dry cleaners, but the T-shirt, jeans and underwear were in the industrial dustbins behind Luigi's, beyond salvaging.

Gene was still in his office, his injury crusty and painful looking, his clothes still carrying reminders of the day's toll. Alex went in to his hidey-hole, and prodded at his stitches. Gene brushed her away.

'Gerroff. You've done enough damage for one day, Lucretia.' He looked up at her and almost smiled. 'You look better.'

Alex nodded. 'Yes, I'm fine. Clean. Does that hurt?'

Gene discovered that raising his eyebrows and nodding were two facial movements he should avoid for the time being, and winced. 'Yes. Happy now?'

'It was very brave, what you did.'

'If I'd thought about it I wouldn't have done it, believe me.'

'OK, rash, then. Still brave. I owe you.'

'Wasn't anything to do with you, love. But yes, you owe me. How do you want to pay?'

Alex chuckled. As she turned to leave, Gene checked her. 'Bolls...'

She turned back to him.

'I'm supposed to be going out tonight, but I'll cancel. If you, er, don't want to be on your own... er, want some company... you know...' He stumbled to a halt.

Alex hesitated for an instant. She couldn't think of anything she wanted more.

'No! I'm fine. But thanks. You have a good time. Relax. Enjoy your night.'

'No, I'll cancel. Difficult day for you.'

'Really, it's fine. I'll call Harry, go and see a movie or something.'

Gene nodded. 'Right. Well, take yourself off, then. Paperwork can wait.'

'Bye, then.'

'See you.'

'Yup.'

TBC


	7. Blitzed

'You got plans for Sunday, Ma'am? Harry taking you somewhere nice?'

'Sunday, Shaz?'

'Valentine's Day, Ma'am...!'

'Ah. Gosh, yes. What about you and Chris?'

'He's pretending not, but I think he's got a surprise lined up. Let's put it this way – if he hasn't, I'll have a surprise for him, and he won't like it.' Shaz had a steely quality to her voice, now and then; Alex didn't fancy Chris's chances if he didn't deliver.

'I'm sure Chris is on the case, Shaz. He's a romantic soul.' Alex smiled at her.

Shaz grinned, picking up the subtext. Romantic was not a word anyone would attach to the rest of the CID team. Insensitive clods, most of them. Their wives would be lucky to get a bunch of petrol station chrysanths – February the fourteenth would be just another Sunday – lie-in, five-a-side, pub, roast dinner, telly. Followed by a scalping – at best – by their unappreciated womenfolk.

'You busy tomorrow night, Ma'am? Chris is playing footie, so I thought I'd go and meet some mates at Blitz. Fancy coming?'

Alex didn't need to think. Blitz was a frothing maelstrom of future stars – for once, hindsight could be massively entertaining. 'I'd love to, Shaz, thanks.'

Alex hadn't seen Harry for a week; they'd had a bit of a row, and Alex had refused to see him since. Well, not so much a row as Alex shouting at him. For a sensitive man – as men go – he had been remarkably callous. Lying in his bed after sex, the night of the shooting, Alex started to cry for Ashley, for Sally, for Molly – for herself. When she explained what had happened that morning at Prospect Mill, Harry was less than sympathetic. 'Poor kid. But with a family like that he'd have ended up dead anyway, probably before he'd left school.'

'What do you mean – a family like that?' Alex's voice was dangerously soft, but Harry didn't know her well enough to recognise the hazard warning.

'Single mother, uncle with form for ABH, guns, living in that dump – they're not the Waltons, are they?'

'His mother is a bright, sensible, decent woman. She lost her son in a senseless accident. She's not liable for the mistakes of other people – neither was her son, who was brave, trying to do the right thing.'

'The right thing?' Harry snorted.

'He was thirteen. He was trying to be a man, protect his mum, stop his uncle getting into trouble.'

'He was a stupid kid who wanted to play with the big boys and got in the way of a bullet. One less to lock up in a year or so, and his mother will have another bun in the oven before long.'

Alex got out of bed, pulled on her clothes, without a word, without even looking at him. If she'd even looked at him, she'd have hit him, and hard.

'Alex – for god's sake. Come back to bed. I'm sorry – I didn't realise you were that upset. I'm sorry, OK?'

He tried to grab her as she put her boots on, but Alex pulled away from him.

'Come on, baby. Let me make it up to you.'

Alex snarled, but refused to look back. Baby. How she detested men who used that term. She stood nearly six feet tall in her heels; mid 30s, with a ten-year old daughter, she was no man's baby. Even her own father thought her old enough to die. Brushing angry tears from her eyes, she slammed Harry's front door behind her.

It wasn't that late – the tube was still running, but Alex chailed a taxi coming down Parkway and gave the cabbie directions to Fenchurch East. As they wound south and east through the back streets and the rat runs, Alex cursed herself for refusing Gene's offer of company tonight. Why? when she wanted so much to say yes? Because he had Miranda; because he was being kind; because she wanted so badly to feel his arms around her again, have the comfort of his embrace, soak in his strength. But that wasn't on offer. And it wasn't enough. She wasn't a little girl any more, and he'd made it clear enough that he didn't want her as an adult. Not unless he was drunk enough to forget who she was and see her just as a body. He'd said he'd have paid if she'd been a whore; but he'd turned her down flat when she'd offered. The sexual comments, the blokish leering – it was a game to deal with a smart female DI in a rough male world. It meant nothing. Even in the vault at Edgehampton, it was kindness that prompted his hug, nothing more. He had a big heart, did Gene Hunt. He couldn't resist a lame duck; had an instinct to protect whoever needed it. Even her, his cracked actor of a 1980s DI, pretending to be grown-up when she was really an eight year old, bereft of strong, loving arms. He'd protect her, even risk his life for her, but he'd do as much for anyone. And she was afraid that if she let him show her a bit of kindness, she'd want too much, give herself away, lose his respect.

Alex put her hands over her face, trying to stop herself sobbing. Self pity wasn't going to help her; she had to be strong. How else was she going to survive this?

'Where abouts, love?' The taxi driver had turned into Scarborough Street.

She took a deep breath. 'Just on the right there, by the restaurant. Thanks.'

Alex paid him and got out, breathing deeply and running her fingers through her hair, before going down the steps to Luigi's. She needed a drink. It wasn't about seeing if Gene was there. She knew he was out. She'd have a quick drink, then go up for a bath, and a relatively early night.

Ray was sitting with a couple of plods over a table littered with beer bottles. Gene wasn't there. Luigi poured Alex a glass of Barolo, and seeing she was in no mood for chat, left her to her thoughts, hunched over the bar. A sensitive man, thought Alex. Emotionally literate. Smart, too. Shame he had a moustache, a wife and bad taste in jackets, or she could have done a lot worse.

She swallowed her wine, bought a bottle to take with her, and headed upstairs. At the top of the basement steps, she met Gene on his way in.

'Bolly – I was just coming to look for you.'

'Here I am. I thought you were out tonight?'

'I was. But I thought I'd better make sure you weren't dancing on tables and seducing vulnerable youths. Have to protect the good name of CID, don't I?'

'Gee, thanks, Guv. But as you see, sober, sensible, solo, and perfectly fine. Goodnight, Gene.'

She made to edge past him, but Gene barred her way, his hand on her shoulder. 'Not so fast, Bolls.'

He peered at her, laser-beams on full, looking right into her head. Alex flinched from the penetrating gaze, didn't want him to read her thoughts.

'You been crying?'

Damn him.

'Grit in my eye.'

'Bollocks. Come down and have a drink.'

'I'm OK. Just tired.'

'Is whatsisname upstairs?'

'No.' Shit. Should have said yes. Then he'd have left her alone.

'You need to be with people. It was a bad day. Come on, Bolls.'

She felt tears welling up; she couldn't stop them. She turned her face away, but Gene was too close.

'Alex...' He put his arms round her, held her gently. For a moment Alex gave in, rested her head on his shoulder – then she caught the scent of perfume. Miranda's perfume, voluptuous, obvious. She was still on him. Alex jerked out of Gene's grasp, stepped back as though burned.

For an instant, Gene looked as though she'd hit him; but the shutters came down so fast that Alex didn't know if she'd imagined it. 'Sorry, Gene. Thanks. I'll... um... I'm...'

'Yes, Bolly, OK. Get some sleep. Dare say I'll see you in the morning.'

He left her, not going downstairs, but walking back to the car. Alex watched him drive off, wondered if he was going back to Miranda for a bit of affection and TLC. He deserved it, poor man – it hadn't been a great day for him, either. She turned and dragged herself upstairs to her empty flat, and cold bed.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Gene didn't drive far. He parked by the Royal Mint and walked over to Tower Bridge, heading along the west walkway till he reached the middle; he leant on the parapet and propped his chin on one hand, staring upriver towards London Bridge and the Square Mile. HMS Belfast sat moored off the south bank, grey, uncompromising, a reminder of past battles. Gene could give the old warship a run for her money when it came to conflict. His life seemed to have been one long battle; there were times he longed for peace, warmth, tenderness. Love. God help him. He was getting old.

This thing with Miranda was... angry, selfish, animal sex. She was a damaged, twisted individual who wanted to hurt and be hurt, and she'd found the same part of him. Tonight's little visit to Theberton Street had left him exhausted, empty, aching. Cold. She was sucking him dry, as she planned her little cruelties, relished every bruise and scratch given and taken. He hated it. Hated her. Wanted... but what he wanted was out of reach.

Wasn't it? He'd tried to reach Alex. Tried showing her... But she kept him at arm's length at work, knocked him back when he plucked up the courage to be direct, froze him out when he tried to help her. Every signal was on red.

Except... except... those fleeting moments. Like today, after the mill, when she touched him, looked at him as though...

Gene pushed himself upright, cursing. Like some stupid adolescent, reading signals that weren't there. He leaned back against the railing, staring at the lights of this vast, heartless city. they were both orphans down here. No family, few friends, tough job. Alex felt she had to prove herself, so maybe she was scared of letting her guard down. But tonight, she'd been crying. Not so tough tonight. If he'd tried harder, hadn't let her go so easily...

Gene strode back to the car. Driving back to Scarborough Street, he ran upstairs and banged on Alex's door. After a good half-minute, the door opened to reveal Alex in her dressing gown, wet hair, bare feet, bare face. Gene wanted to pick her up and take her straight to bed.

'Gene...?'

'Worried about you. Wanted to make sure...'

A man wandered into view. Haggerty.

'You said he wasn't here.'

'He wasn't. He's just arrived...'

'No need for me to worry, then. You're obviously well looked after. Night.'

Alex shouted after him, but he was down the stairs and out of sight.

'Gene, he's not staying... Gene!'

xxxxxxxxxxx

On Wednesday morning, Chris was in early, making tea for Gene when Alex arrived. Before he could get away, Alex put a hand on his shoulder. 'Chris – a word in your ear.'

Chris looked nervous, but stood his ground. 'Ma'am?'

'Sunday.'

'Sunday, Ma'am?'

'Sunday, Chris – what have you got lined up for Shaz?'

'Er... why? Her birthday's not till May..'

'Valentine's Day, Christopher.'

Chris's eyes widened. 'Oh, god...'

Alex raised her eyebrows, giving the young man a searching look. 'Hmmm?'

'Er... er... ummm...'

'Can I make a suggestion, Chris?'

'Oh, please, Ma'am!'

'Take her to Heaven, Chris.' At his blank look, Alex elaborated. 'The club under the arches at Charing Cross. Shaz would adore it.'

'But that's a gay club, isn't it?'

'Yes, Chris. But you don't have to be gay to go there. Shaz would love it, and she'd be really impressed that you'd taken her there. Really impressed... But book now – it'll be rammed.' She patted his shoulder, and let him escape with Gene's tea.

Later, Alex noticed Chris looking pleased with himself, and catching his eye, Alex mimed a question. Chris grinned, and gave her the thumbs-up.

xxxxxxxxxxx

That night, Blitz was an over-the-top riot of satin, lace and hair gel; Shaz was a Blitz Kid sans pareil, the picture of New Romantic chic. By contrast, in timeless grey and cream, her hair in a simple knot to show off jet earrings, Alex gleamed like gold amongst gravel, and she drew admiring glances from all genders.

Shaz came back from the loo to find Alex arguing happily with a youth with a lot of shocking pink and white hair, vaguely identifiable as male by his height and bodyshape. 'Shaz! Come and meet Martin Degville. He's got some really old-fashioned ideas about outsiders...' Alex giggled.

'Old-fashioned? Bugger off – who's the old boiler in the mumsy outfit?' Degville poked Alex's right breast with one long, painted fingernail, laughing.

'Colin Wilson wrote _The Outsider_ in 1956, for god's sake – it's hardly cutting edge thinking. But I grant you, the peak experience theory certainly holds water, as I can personally testify.'

'You don't look as if you've had a peak experience in your posh public school pampered life, darling,' said the pink haired vision.

Alex laughed, the irony too delicious. 'You wouldn't believe how much of an outsider I am in this place,' she said wryly. 'Not to mention this time...'

Shaz couldn't get a word in edgeways, but she was too impressed by the conversation to try. Alex ploughed on. 'Read _Access to Inner Worlds_. I don't think Wilson's written it yet – another year or so, maybe – but that is a book of practical ideas.' She patted him on the arm, and pulled Shaz away, leaving Degville gawping at her in amused shock.

'Who was that?' asked Shaz, in awe.

'Sigue Sigue Sputnik,' said Alex.

'Zigzig who?'

'Sputnik. Come on, I need a drink.'

An hour or so and several drinks later, Shaz was dancing with a thin young man in black leather, and Alex was leaning against a pillar watching the crowd and smiling at their innocence. They think they're so dangerous, so cool. Wait till you see what your kids are into at this age, she thought. Her eyes wandered across the bobbing heads, and lit on an anomaly – clean, fair, unfashionable. Denim jacket, collar turned up, he was as much an oddity in this place as she was herself. He turned around, and Alex felt as though she'd been electrocuted. It was Gene. It was Gene... but young. She forged her way through the massed bodies to reach him. It was uncanny. Same height, same long-lashed blue-green eyes – but very young, and happy. He was bouncing, beer bottle in hand, grin spread across his face.

'Hi, I'm Alex...' she said, curiosity killing her.

'Hello, Alex. Phil. It's my birthday - going to buy me a drink?'

'Which birthday?'

'Nineteen.'

'N-n-n-nineteen? Good lord. Happy birthday.' She kissed him before she could stop herself. He didn't seem to mind. In fact Alex found herself grabbed, so that she had a close-up view of the sea-bright eyes.

'You my birthday present? Thank you, god!' he shouted, before kissing Alex back. This was insanity, but what the hell, she almost thought.

'Many happy returns...'

'Many, many...'

'With knobs on...'

'Can I keep you?'

'Can you afford me?'

'I'll rob a bank.'

'I'd have to arrest you.'

'Handcuffs. Oh, yes.'

This elevated conversation, punctuated by heated kisses, might have continued, if Shaz hadn't rocked up with the man in black leather. Shaz was killing herself laughing at the sight of her boss glued to the face of a teenager, till she saw the face, then her jaw actually dropped.

'Oi, little brother, put her down.' The leather jacket slapped the back of Phil's head in a fraternal manner.

'Fuck off, Rob. She's my birthday present.'

Alex pulled away from him, turning her laughing face to Shaz's chum Rob. 'It's OK, I was just keeping him warm for you...'

She turned back to the birthday boy, put her hands to his face and gave him a final lingering kiss. 'See you around. Stay happy – that's the most fabulous smile. Don't lose it.'

She dragged Shaz towards the bar. The girl was gobsmacked, looking back over her shoulder for another glimpse of the two young men.

'He looked exactly like...'

'Don't say it.'

'But...'

'Don't. And don't breathe one single syllable of this to a living soul. Shaz – you hear me?' The two women sealed the pact with lukewarm white paintstripper.

Taking a breather, Alex and Shaz were playing spot the face, and Alex was winning by a very wide margin. Marc Almond, Tony Hadley, Boy George, Magenta Devine, Pete Burns, Leigh Bowery – Shaz hadn't even heard of half of them.

'How do you know these people?'

'You'd be amazed at what I know, Shaz.'

'I am amazed. You know everything.'

Alex's face fell. 'No. Not the things I need to know. I wish I had the answers, but I'm out of my depth here,' she said

'What? Can't hear you!' Shaz yelled.

Alex smiled and shook her head. 'Doesn't matter! Let's dance.'

They pushed their way into the frothing shoal of bodies and gave in to the noise. An elbow jammed into Alex's ribs; she turned, to see a white-faced Blitz Kid girl. A familiar face... 'Menna! Hey, Shaz, it's Menna.' Alex tapped Shaz on the arm, but when she turned back, Menna had gone.

'Can't have been. She's at Greenham Common. This place isn't her style,' yelled Shaz.

But it was her. It was definitely her. Alex craned her neck to see where the girl had gone, and suddenly caught a glimpse. She was talking urgently to a tall, dark bloke... Harry. No doubt. What the hell...

Alex pushed through the crowd, but when she got to where the two had been, there was no sign. Menna and Harry had gone.

TBC


	8. Warnings

Gene lay in Miranda's bed, hurting, cold, filled with a dull loathing

Gene lay in Miranda's bed, hurting, cold, filled with a dull loathing. He watched with disinterest as she examined herself in the long mirror opposite the bed, twisting and bending to see the marks on her back, her legs and shoulders.

There was blood on the sheets from Gene's thigh, where Miranda had deliberately cut him with her solitaire diamond. Inches from his scrotum, the injury was stinging now, reminding him of his mistress's tender loving regard for him. He was a patchwork of bruises and scratches, some fresh and sore, others fading. The scars were growing, evidence of this degenerate, degrading liaison. It wasn't a relationship: there was nothing between them but anger, spite, hatred and – for him – release. He knew she took some twisted satisfaction from it – her vixen shrieks were orgasmic. His lover took vicious pleasure in torturing him and goading him into brutal reaction. Gene had never before known violence like this. He'd grown up with a brutal father and was used to being battered from an early age, until he was old enough to fight back. He had always met the world with his fists, and wasn't afraid of a fight. But this was different. Being so damaged by a woman – worse, punishing a woman – was against every principle. And in the name of love... it made him sick.

Gene lurched off the bed and into the bathroom, and heaved his guts up. He couldn't stomach it, this corrosive diet of pain and rage.

When he was dressed, he found Miranda in the kitchen, singing to herself as she fried sausages; she was naked, squealing as spitting fat scalded her flesh. 'Darling! I've made you a delicious breakfast,' she declared.

Gene stood in the doorway, wondering if he was going to throw up again. 'No. I'm going.'

Miranda's mouth turned down at the corners, and she made puppy eyes at him. 'Ah, precious thing – wouldn't you like to sink your teeth into a hot, fat, juicy pork sausage?'

Gene was stone-faced; he turned away without a word. Miranda, seeing him leave, trotted after him. 'By the way, my angel – I can't see you this weekend. My husband will be home for Valentine's Day. What a shame,' she pouted.

'Husband?' Gene was gobsmacked.

'Yes – Jack. He usually lives across town in Sunbury – so handy for Heathrow. He's rather jealous of you, sweetie. Wants to reclaim his little wifey. So you'll allow me Valentine's Day with my nearest and dearest, won't you?' She pawed at him, stroked along his jaw tenderly before curling her fingers to scrape her nails over his stubble, the pain making him jerk his head away from her touch.

'Hope he deserves you. I bloody don't.' He shoved her away. 'Get off me.'

Miranda staggered back, tripped and fell sprawling. She lay there, naked as the damned, laughing at him. 'You'll be back. You'll be begging me...'

Her voice rang in his head as he slammed the front door and ran to his car.

xxxxxx

Alex slammed down her phone with enough force to silence CID. Swearing fluently, she realised all attention was on her, and looked up. 'Damned hairdressers,' she laughed. No-one was remotely convinced, but work resumed.

That had been Harry on the phone, ringing to say that he had to work on the weekend. 'Got to nip over to Ireland to see a project at the Burren. My research on limestone botany – you know. We're flying to Galway Airport tonight; back on Monday morning. Maybe dinner on Monday night?'

'You mean you've got a hotel room booked in Newbury so you can shag Greenham Menna senseless,' hissed Alex, trying to keep her voice down.

'Menna? Don't be stupid, darling. I know it's short notice, but someone pulled out this morning and I got the chance to go instead.'

'Don't ever call me stupid. You are such a bad liar, and you are so dumped.'

Later, in Luigi's, Alex was nursing a drink, in no mood for Friday night jollity, when Gene materialised at her elbow. 'Room for one more?'

She acknowledged him without a smile, but gestured to Luigi to give Gene a drink. They moved from the bar to their old corner table, deserted for weeks. Gene sat back and looked at his companion. 'Well, this is nice. You're sparkling company tonight, Bolly.'

Alex looked up then, and gave him a weary half smile. 'Sorry. One of those days.'

'Weekend ahead, Bolls. Doing anything?'

'No.'

'Biker boy not taking you somewhere romantic on Sunday?'

'No. He's working, apparently.'

'Hmm.'

'Where are you taking the lovely Miranda, then?'

Gene didn't answer immediately, and Alex glanced up to see a look of such desolation on his face that she reached across to touch his arm. 'Gene?'

He pulled his arm away, and took a long pull at his beer. Alex waited.

'Her husband's home for the weekend, so I'm excused duty,' he said, failing to keep the bitterness from his voice.

'Husband?'

'My word exactly, Bolly.'

No wonder he looked miserable, she thought. If he's so shattered, he must be in love with her. It felt like glass shards inside her.

'Sergeant Pepper's club for us, then, eh, Gene?' Alex raised her glass to him.

'What? Oh...' He paused. 'Nah. Romantic bollocks. For kids and fairies. Not for the likes of you and me, Bolls.'

'Unbreakable, huh?'

'Naturally.'

They sat in silence for a while.

Then Gene took a deep breath and leant forward. 'Tell you what. You could give me a hand, if you like. Got to go to a DIY place next week. Redecorating my kitchen. Thought you could give me some advice... you know... cupboards and whatnot. Colours and stuff. Sort of thing women are good at.'

He kept his eyes on the table. Alex smiled to herself. He'd managed to think of the least romantic activity imaginable. He could be surprisingly thoughtful.

'OK.'

'Pub does food, if you fancy lunch.'

'Deal.'

Gene felt a whole lot better, all of a sudden. The thought of having Alex to himself, doing something so... domestic, was a powerful antidote to the poison that Miranda had fed him. He'd had no intention of redecorating his kitchen – dingy and ugly though it was – until that moment, but now it gleamed ahead of him, a beacon for a lost soul to follow home.

xxxxxxx

Sunday morning was blustery, dark and wet – not ideal for St Valentine's Day, but that suited Alex just fine. With a bit of luck Harry was either getting hypothermia on the exposed rock of the Burren, or catching pneumonia in a wet tent with Mimsy Menna on Greenham Common. Serve the bastard right.

Gene picked her up at ten and drove her to his house in Chisenhale Road, backing on to the Hertford Union Canal with a view across to Victoria Park.

'Bought it when I moved down. Done nothing to it – don't think it's been touched for years,' said Gene, walking Alex through the ground floor. 'Haven't spent that much time here.'

Whoever had had the house before didn't have comfort as a priority. Lino, brown and cream paint, Bakerlite and formica were in the kitchen – cold and dark. Definitely time for a change. It was a decent sized room, but the only window had its light stolen by a large tree outside, and there was no direct access to the garden.

'Get the kettle on, then.' Alex poked about, opening doors and inspecting cupboards. 'How do you get to the garden?'

Gene led her down a narrow corridor to a scullery, and the back door.

'This wall could go, and you could put in French windows...'

'Sounds a bit poncy for me, love. Don't want any continental nonsense.'

'Patio doors, then.'

'Sounds better.'

Alex's lips twitched. She shouldn't tease him.

'How long are you planning to stay here?'

'Dunno. Depends. Why?'

'Well, do you want to live in it for some time, or do you want to do it up to sell on?'

Gene sighed. 'Hadn't occurred to me. Needed a place. Bloody expensive, London. Could just about afford this after the missus had cleared me out. Who knows what's ahead?'

He was lying. It had occurred to him. In the wee small hours, lying awake upstairs, he'd thought about sharing this house with someone. All right, with Alex. Stupid fantasy, dangerous, pointless. As if a posh bird would give a house like this a second glance. As if she'd... But having her here, listening to her plan, dream, see a home instead of a house... A harmless game, that was all, to distract them both from what the rest of the world was doing today. Didn't mean anything.

They spent a companionable morning scheming and arguing about the kitchen's new look, then wandered round to the pub for lunch; Alex wrote notes on paper napkins with cryptic shapes and floorplans.

When they went back to the house, clutching Alex's notes, they could hear the phone ringing as Gene unlocked the door.

'Guv? I've been trying to get you for ages. All hell's broke loose – a bunch of letter bombs have gone off. Special Branch want you and DI Drake at the Yard at three.

'Make sense, Ray. Why us? Was it on our patch?'

'No, Guv. They all went to the media – Fleet Street, BBC, ITN. But Branch want to see everyone who went to the seminar in January – the one at the Tower. I can't get hold of DI Drake...'

'All right, Ray. I know where she'll be. I'll find her and we'll go straight in to Broadway.'

He put the phone down and turned to Alex. 'End of weekend. It's all kicked off, and it seems they need us to save their arses. Come on, Wonder Woman, let's go.'

xxxxxx

There must have been close on a hundred people in the room. A tall, whip-thin man in uniform stepped on to the podium and called for hush.

'I'm Chief Superintendent Brian Cruickshank, Special Branch. Thank you for such a prompt response. I hope it won't mean a serious disruption to your love lives...'

Quiet noise of ice breaking.

'We've asked you here either because you attended the Countermeasure seminar three weeks ago, or because you've had some relevant training.

'You may have heard the news. This morning, between eleven and noon, four envelopes were delivered by hand to named individuals in press organisations around the city – BBC, ITN, the Press Association, and the Guardian. They all contained small amounts of explosive. One – the PA letter – failed to detonate. The other three exploded, causing minor injuries, and a lot of panic.

'The packages were all delivered by children.'

The room heaved with muttered expletives. Gene shifted fractionally closer to Alex so their shoulders were touching.

'They were unharmed. Aged between ten and thirteen, it seems they were approached on the street, close to the target building, and were each given a pound to take an envelope to the reception desk. They are being interviewed now, so we may have something more from them later.

'There has been no claim made; there was no warning. There was nothing in the one package we recovered to indicate why these devices were sent. But there are some possiblilities. I'll hand you over to DCI Graham Clark, who will tell you more.'

Cruickshank stepped to one side, and a younger man took his place.

'At the moment we're looking at three main suspects: animal rights, the IRA, or CND – all of whom have been actively recruiting in the last few months. There are, of course, no certainties; we will know more when forensics have looked at the materials used.

'This might be a one-off, but it's more likely to be the start of a campaign. If we hear from those responsible it will save us some legwork, but otherwise it's vigilance and good communication throughout the Met and the City force, please. You will all get a briefing pack on the way out, which includes contact details. Thank you, everyone.'

As they left, a man touched Alex on the shoulder. 'DI Alex Drake? Could we have a brief word, please?'

Alex agreed, then glanced at Gene

'Anything wrong? I'm her DCI. Gene Hunt.'

'Not at all.' The man, who was as anonymous an individual as could be imagined, gestured to Alex to go ahead of him through the door, blocking Gene's attempt to follow. He led Alex upstairs to a small office, where Cruickshank and Clark were waiting.

'DI Drake – do sit down,' said Cruickshank. 'You've been at Fenchurch East since last July, and before that you were at Hyde, I believe.'

'Yes, sir.' Alex was on alert at the mention of the mysterious Hyde.

'And I see from your file that you have had some CIA training.'

'In psychological profiling, yes, sir.'

'Excellent. We're setting up a liaison group, and we'd like you to join, if you'd be willing.'

'Tell me more, sir.'

'There is something we didn't tell the group downstairs, nor will we release it to the media. I would like you to give me your word that you won't talk of it outside this room.'

'Of course, sir.'

'There was a fifth package delivered, to this building, addressed to the Commissioner. It contained the same amount of explosive, but had no detonator. It did, however, contain a note to the effect that this was a warning of things to come.'

Cruickshank looked at Clark, who continued. 'It talked about light bursting from the dark, and the cosmic dance beginning. There were two words at the end: "Kalki comes" written, we think, in blood. Mean anything to you?'

'No, sir. So – the three organisations mentioned are not the likely suspects?'

'It doesn't fit any of them.'

'The wording sounds more like occult stuff. Do you think they're to be taken seriously?'

'We can't take the chance.'

Cruickshank spoke. 'Alex…. may we call you Alex?'

'Of course, sir.'

'Once forensics are back, and statements are done, we'd like you to take a look at the evidence and see what you make of it. There were at least five people involved in the delivery of the packages – the addresses were too far apart for even two of them to be handled by the same person. So this is not a nutter with an obsession – it's organised.

'DCI Clark will see your Super tomorrow to clear your work for us. I gather your DCI is downstairs – is he likely to throw any spanners in the works?'

'No, sir. In fact, I'd ask you to allow me to take him into my confidence. I trust him implicitly, and his backing would be very valuable.'

'Say nothing for the moment, Alex. Let Graham talk to Superintendent Dorney first.'

Alex nodded.

'Right. We'll be in touch in the morning. Thank you, Alex.'

She shook hands with each man and was taken back to the foyer. Gene was under the famous triangular Yard sign, a cigarette in hand, and several fag ends rounds his feet. He watched Alex approach, but didn't move until she'd reached him. 'So, Bolly – promotion? Transfer? Marriage? Deportation? What have they offered you, then?'

'More to the point, are you offering me a lift home, Gene?'

In the car, zipping through quiet city streets, they talked about the briefing session – who they recognised, what was going on. Approaching Tower Hill, Alex tapped Gene on the arm, and immediately put a finger to her lips and mimed that the car might be bugged. Gene's pulled a face that suggested she was nuts, but he said nothing. Alex pointed towards St Katherine's Dock, and Gene complied. Parking in front of a restaurant, they strolled through to the river, and stood watching the ebb tide race seawards.

'So, Mrs Paranoia, what's festering in your brain now?'

Alex shot him an old-fashioned look, but with half a smile attached. 'It's Paranoia City at the moment, and I wouldn't be surprised if they were listening. Anyway, it's a nice night for a stroll by the river.'

'Is it buggery. I'm bloody freezing, so I'd appreciate you declaring yourself toot-sweet so we can get back to the pub.'

Alex told him what Cruickshank and Clark had said, leaving nothing out.

'You've just got yourself sacked at best, and prosecuted at worst. If they find out. Why?'

'I trust you. They don't trust either of us, and I think they'll try to divide and rule: I don't know why. But I don't ever want to have to work against you again.'

Gene had the oddest expression on his face for a moment.

'You just want to get your hands on my Bakerlite switches. You women are so transparent.' He took her arm and they walked slowly back to the car. 'Thanks. Means a lot,' he said softly.

Back in the warmth of the Quattro, Gene started in on her. 'Come on then, Drake. I've been waiting for you to tell me what they wanted back there.'

'It's confidential, Guv. Sorry. It's more than my job's worth.'

'I didn't have you down as a prissy bitch. Thanks for nothing. It's your round, then. Till I retire, possibly.'

Gene turned to Alex and a smile spread slowly across his face; Alex found it rather infectious. 'Yes, Guv,' she said.

They kept up the banter for an hour at Luigi's, before Gene left. 'Always ring my old mum on Sunday evenings. Apart from me and her sister Ruby, she's run out of relatives, and most of her friends are dead now. You staying?'

Alex shook her head and got to her feet. 'No. Bit of TV and an early night. Busy day tomorrow.'

Gene walked her upstairs to the street door. 'Night then, Bolls. Thanks, you know, for... this morning. Very helpful. If you get thrown off the Force you could scrape a living as a... whatsit... interior designer.'

'It was fun. Thanks for lunch.'

'Night then.'

He leaned forward and kissed her, just about, on the lips. They both jumped as a couple lurched round the corner roaring with laughter, and Gene took a few steps backwards, his eyes still on Alex.

'Night, Gene. Mañana.'

'See you in the morning.'

'Yup.'

xxxxxxxxx

Monday brought DCI Clark to Fenchurch East, as promised; the Super called Gene up to his office, and fifteen minutes later, he returned to CID with a scowl fierce enough to quell any unwanted comments; then Alex was summoned upstairs, where it was agreed that she should work alongside Special Branch as and when required, and that DCI Hunt would be asked to release her when asked to do so.

'Have you briefed DCI Hunt fully, sir?

'No, DI Drake, not at the moment. This is a highly sensitive situation, and the words 'highly sensitive' are not ones I'd connect with DCI Hunt,' said the Super, chuckling at his own wit.

As well as a media frenzy over the letter bombs, Monday also delivered an avalanche of Valentine's cards, some to Alex's desk, three for Gene and a small stack for Ray, which gave the team enough ammunition for several days' Ray-baiting. Alex opened hers – one was from Harry, which she binned. There was a large card shaped like a teddy bear, and since Duffy blushed like a girl when Alex opened it, she thought she knew where that one emanated. Two were unguessable, and either everyone else in CID was RADA trained, or they were from elsewhere.

The last card freaked her. A red balloon. Inside, the words _'Hope you're happy... We're still waiting for you, Alex. XX'_ in big red letters.

Alex dropped the card as though it burned her, and leapt to her feet. 'Ahh! Sick...'

Chris was across the office in a blink, and bent to pick up the card. Alex yelled at him. 'Don't touch it! Get an evidence bag.'

Gene was out of his office and at her side; he could see the card where it lay on the floor. 'Chris – bag it, and the envelope. There might be prints. Alex, a word.'

He pushed her into the kitchen and backed her against the counter top. Gripping her shoulders, he fixed her in the eye. 'Alex, get a grip. It's almost certainly Layton, just enjoying the thought of winding you up. Don't give him the satisfaction.'

Alex nodded, slowly, and took a deep breath. 'OK. Thanks.'

'We'll catch the bastard. He's not going to hurt you, Bolls. Not while I'm around.'

'I thought I could save them. Tim and Caroline. But Layton won. And he'll win again, sooner or later.'

'He'll have to get past me first, and them out there. Stick with me, kid.'

Gene rubbed her arms in a comforting little gesture, and took a couple of steps away. 'Come on, Bolly, work to do. Even spooky-dooky work to do.' He waggled his eyebrows at her, and made her laugh.

Monday afternoon brought a huge bunch of pink and white Stargazer lilies, and Monday evening brought Harry to Luigi's bar.

Alex was sitting with Gene over a bottle of rather good Barolo; Harry sauntered over, and leant over to give Alex a kiss. She pulled away, to his annoyance and Gene's amusement.

'Darling...' he began.

'Do you remember the last thing I said to you on Friday?'

She saw that he did. 'I meant it.'

'Can we go and talk about this somewhere else?' Harry was acutely uncomfortable under Gene's scrutiny.

'I'm fine here, thanks,' said Alex, ruthlessly.

Harry pulled up a chair and sat close to her, so that she shielded him from Gene, and spoke softly. 'Did you get my card? And the lilies? I'm really sorry about the weekend – especially not being with you yesterday.'

'As it happened, I had a lovely day,' said Alex. Gene moved his chair, and settled his elbows on the table to get a good view, a smug expression on his features.

Harry looked daggers at Gene, but took a breath, and tried again. 'Look, Alex...'

'Harry, give it a rest. I've got things I need to talk to Gene about.'

She stared him out, and Harry dropped his gaze. 'OK, you win. How about dinner tomorrow?'

'Goodnight, Harry.'

Yes, goodnight, Harry,' said Gene, with a matey grin.

As Harry left, Luigi shimmied over. Jeeves Neapolitana with extra parmesan, thought Alex.

'Signorina Drake, a phone call for you.'

Alex went to the phone.

'Alex? It's DCI Clark. I need a quick word with you. I am at the main desk at the station – could you nip across? Don't say anything.'

She said goodnight to Gene, and left. Clark was waiting for her.

'Sorry to drag you away from your evening, Alex, but I wanted to give you a word of warning. While this case is going on, it might be better not to socialise with your colleagues. Nothing like alcohol to loosen the tongue, and one small slip could do some damage. If you get my drift.'

'Yes, sir, I do. Do you think that anyone in this station represents a security risk?'

'No, no. Just that there are one of two people who have a reputation for, let's say, independent action, and one or two more who have an eclectic group of friends. Best to minimise the risk, don't you think?'

'As you say, sir.'

'Goodnight then, Alex.'

'Sir.'

Aware that there might be someone watching, Alex went straight up to the flat, and rang down to Luigi, ordering a plate of antipasti for supper and asking him to bring it up himself. Five minutes later, he was at the door.

'Grazie, Luigi.' She handed him a note, with Gene's name on it, and put a finger to her lips. Luigi tapped the side of his nose.

'_Prego_, signorina. My pleasure.'

'_G – sorry, we are being watched. You and Ray, Shaz and maybe Chris. Can't be sure they're not bugging my flat or my phone, so for the time being, we'd better play ball. See you in the morning. – A' _

Gene read the note, and dropped it into the ashtray, where it happened to catch a discarded match a little later.

TBC


	9. Burning

The fifth of March. Alex's thirty-fifth birthday. Ninth birthday. Both. Neither. She was woken by the celebratory sound of a fist pounding on her door. 'Bolly? Come on, get up. We've got scum to catch.'

She dragged herself out of bed, and opened the door to let Gene in. 'Morning to you, too. Give me five minutes,' she said huskily.

'It's after nine o'clock,' said Gene, testily. 'You're late. Get a move on.'

'Put the kettle on, then.'

'Eggs Benedict, madam? School's been attacked – children hurt. No time for breakfast, DI Drake. Shift.'

Alex grabbed clothes and vanished into the bathroom, leaving Gene to mooch round the flat. Three minutes later she emerged, dressed and clean but without make-up. She pulled on boots, grabbed a coat, and was ready. Gene made no comment, but nodded to acknowledge her speed. They ran downstairs and were in the car and off, six minutes after she first opened the front door to him.

Chris and Shaz were in the back; after greeting them, Alex turned to Gene.

'Tell me.'

'Eight-forty, petrol bomb was thrown from a moving car, over the wall into Brick Lane Primary School. Two kids badly burned, seven more injured, one teacher and two parents hurt. Ray's already over there with Lucas and Duffy.'

'Brick Lane. So – racially motivated?'

'Paki haters, you mean?' Chris was nothing if not predictable.

Alex turned round to look at him. 'Chris – the majority population of Brick Lane are of Indian background, not Pakistani. You could refer to them either as Bengali or Bangladeshi, a region which is on the eastern border of India, whereas Pakistan is a separate country to the west of India. However, the children and many of the adults involved in this incident will have been born in Britain, and are therefore British. Am I clear?'

Chris flushed. 'Yes, Boss. Bengali or Bangladeshi. British. Right.'

'Good. Lord Scarman is going to have his beady eye on this case, given his track record with Fenchurch East, so we'd like him to find nothing but courtesy, fairness and diligence in our handling of the case, isn't that so?'

Gene gave her a look, but said nothing; Chris and Shaz mumbled their agreement, but Alex realised that by the time they arrived, Ray and the others would have had time to start a war.

'One more thing. Some of the names you'll hear may be unusual, so be sure to ask people to spell their names for you as a matter of course. Don't assume anything. Even Smith can be spelled at least three ways that I can think of. If this has a racist motive, then names might be very important.'

They turned into Fournier Street, then right into Brick Lane, where the plods had already got a cordon rigged, and two ambulances and a fire engine were parked. Gene led his little posse into the school playground, a scene of chaos and distress. Ray came across. 'Guv – we've got a good description on the car – an orange MG Midget drophead, registration XRV 818S. It was stolen last night from a house in Cheyne Walk – reported at seven this morning.'

'Good, Ray. How many in the car?' asked Gene.

'Two. Wearing motorcycle helmets and overalls. Probably men, but not sure. Drove north up Brick Street and turned right into Hanbury Street.'

'Who's the witness?'

'Those two over there,' said Ray, pointing to two young Asian men. 'They'd dropped their kids at the school and were just walking out of the gate.'

'What was the bomb?

'Leading fireman says it looks like an old-fashioned Molotov cocktail – petrol in a milk bottle with a rag as a fuse.'

'Right. Ray – get uniform to ring round the schools in this area and warn them to keep their eyes and ears open. If there's any hint of trouble anywhere else on my manor I want to know about it pronto.'

'Yes, Guv.' Ray was off, calling to plods.

'OK. Chris, see who's got the names of the injured – have they gone to the London?'

'Yes, Guv. Ambulance driver said his mates took twelve injuries to Casualty, and there are a few still here being treated for shock and minor injuries.'

'Right. Granger, go in and see what they can tell you. Get them to spell their names.'

Alex smiled as Gene repeated her earlier advice. It wasn't all wasted.

'Bolly, let's find the head teacher.'

Dr Sayeda Jasimunessa Khatun was a woman in late middle age, sharp eyes behind gold-rimmed specs. Alex introduced them. 'Good morning, Dr Khatun. This is Detective Chief Inspector Hunt, I'm Detective Inspector Drake. I'm sorry – this is very distressing. Do you have any idea who might be responsible?'

'Good morning. Thank you for coming so promptly. Given the make-up of the school, it is likely that it was a racist attack. But I cannot think who, or why, specifically.'

Gene chipped in. 'Have there been any threats that you're aware of? Any other trouble in the area?'

'There is always something, but it's usually just yobs calling names, or spitting at people. The market attracts a lot of strangers, and young men get drunk and come here for a curry late at night. You know how it is.'

'Yes, Dr Khatun, I'm afraid we do,' said Alex.

'Professor Dev and Mrs Spiegel want to speak to you. They are both grandparents of pupils here, and wish to share some ideas with you.'

Gene and Alex were at the school for another hour, talking to staff and parents, and fielding queries from the press who'd got wind of the story, then went together to the London Hospital to see the injured. The worst was a seven-year old boy, Firoz Saleh, who'd lost an eye from flying glass, and had third degree burns all the way down his left side. In intensive care, Firoz wasn't guaranteed to survive; the medics weren't promising anything. Eight year old Nicole Cazneau lay on her stomach, her back, from heel to head, burned raw and covered in protective dressings. Gene was sitting by the bed of another boy, Mirza Ispahani, just six, with burns on his head and right hand, and whose nylon football shorts had melted on to his right leg. Gene took the boy's left hand in his own, with the tenderness of a father, and Alex heard him talking softly to the sedated child. 'They'll get you better, kid, don't you worry. You'll be back in the team in no time.' Alex had to wipe the tears from her eyes; she stood behind Gene, a hand on his shoulder, and they watched the child for a moment in silence, before Gene got to his feet and moved away quickly, walking ahead of Alex till they got out of the ward. She found him leaning against the wall in the corridor, his eyes gleaming.

'I'll skin them alive, the bastards who did this, Bolls. I don't understand how anyone could drag little kids into their battle – whatever they think they're fighting for.'

'I'll hold your coat. No, actually, I'll hold them down for you.'

Gene was staggered. Alex Drake, condoning rough justice? She never failed to surprise him, did Bolly. But she had a daughter not much older than these kids; she hadn't mentioned her recently, but the waters ran deep in his posh, bolshie, tough, tender DI, and he feared she kept too much to herself.

'Got to catch the scum first. Come on then.'

They went back to the station, and Alex started sending men off to pubs in the area to see if they could pick up on any gossip – the men responsible for the petrol bomb would probably be boasting about it. Gene, however, wasn't convinced.

'Bolly – a word.'

Alex trotted in to his office. 'Guv?'

'Why did they use such a conspicuous car? An orange MG Midget. Why go to Chelsea to steal it?'

'Did they go to Chelsea?' Alex replied. 'Is that where they live? Did they just fancy nicking a cool car?'

'It's not a cool car. It's four years old. And it's orange. It's too obvious... a Hooray Henry car. What an English toff would drive. It's a public school, establishment car.'

Gene stared at Alex, willing her to make the same leap.

'You mean it's a fundamentalist group – Asian, Muslim, maybe Zionist – who wants to stir up racism. Make us think it's a hate crime, get the ethnic groups fighting. Cable Street 1982?'

'Exactly.'

'Have you thought about the St Valentine bombs?'

'Have you?'

'Can't rule it out. But doesn't seem like a logical connection. The school incident was small, local, no warning, no claims afterwards. Have you let Branch know?'

'As you're the luscious lovely on the liaison group, I thought I'd leave you that pleasure. We'll carry on regardless.' Gene opened the door and bellowed. 'Ray!'

'Yes, Guv.'

'Shut the door. Right. We need a fistful of Asians and a couple of Jews. PCs or sergeants. Who fits the bill in the Met? Or the City force?'

'Nathan Gold in uniform here, Guv. Met a Paki plod in Stoke Newington once – don't know his name though.'

'Find out. Get me names and the phone numbers of their DCIs.'

'Right, Guv.'

'Quick as you can, Ray. It's Friday – Muslim prayer day. If we're going to get people into the Fournier Street mosque tonight, we need to hurry,' added Alex. 'Synagogue tonight, as well – and tomorrow, obviously.'

Gene nodded. 'Good. Don't give up on the pubs, though. There's always the chance of some divvy shouting his mouth off. Send Lucas and Chris up to the pubs round Cheyne Walk – just in case it's a couple of Hoorays with a grudge.'

Alex went to talk to them, leaving Gene to talk to his colleagues about borrowing coppers for a few hours' earwigging, while she called Graham Clark at Branch and briefed him.

Just after four, Gene called Alex in again.

'It's Alex Price's birthday today,' he said.

'Yes, I know.'

'You still in touch with Evan White?'

'Now and then. Just to see how she's getting on.'

'She's asked me to her birthday party tomorrow. Rang me herself. Asked for the Gene Genie,' he said with a rare smile. 'She said there were some naughty boys coming, and would I please come too to make sure they behaved.'

'Will you?'

'Couldn't really say no, could I?'

'It'll mean a lot to her.'

Gene huffed with pleasure. 'You going?'

'Yes. Evan asked me just now.'

'Your boyfriend going with you?'

'Harry? No.'

'I'll pick you up then. Half one.'

xxxxxxxxxx

The ethnic ears – as Ray termed them – failed to hear anything helpful, apart from angry, frightened voices at the mosque, and a mixture of opinion at the various pubs around Brick Lane. There was nothing more to be done that night, so Alex went over to Luigi's. Harry was away, and she couldn't be bothered to do anything much. Diving into Luigi's best red seemed to be a good solution to forgetting her 35th birthday. She was going to her own ninth birthday party tomorrow, which was surreal, but maybe she could help herself blow out the candles. Too weird.

No-one from CID was in the bar but she saw Carol Watkins – B Shift's custody sergeant – and another plonk she didn't know. Alex had a brief chat with Luigi, then took a bottle of red over to Carol's table.

'Hello, Carol. Do you mind if I join you? My lot have deserted me tonight.'

'Alex – yes, of course. Good to see you. This is Deidre, by the way – desk sergeant at Bow Street.'

They spent an amusing few hours talking shop, bitching about management, slagging off the government and arguing over the relative merits of sportsmen's legs – tennis, footie, rugger, athletes or speed skaters? Alex and Deidre were in favour of tennis and rugby, but Carol held out for football. 'Glen Hoddle – Steve Coppell...' she mused.

'We're just talking legs. OK, bums too,' Alex reminded Carol.

'Yeah, yeah, OK, but still – Hoddle and Coppell,' she insisted.

The conversation went downhill from this point, as Deidre and Alex were doing serious damage to Luigi's stock of Sangiovese. Deidre staggered off at about eleven to catch the tube, but Alex had no plans to stop drinking, and Carol felt she'd better stay till she could persuade her to go upstairs.

Just before closing time, Gene turned up, and seeing a CID-free zone, was about to leave when he saw Carol over the other side of the room, frantically waving at him. When he went to the table, he found Alex, head propped on one hand, pissed as a rat, burbling about cakes.

'Can you help me get her upstairs, Gene? She's well past upright.'

'Has she been here all night?'

'Pretty much – since about six-thirty. I'd only just got here.'

Gene squatted down by Alex's chair and tipped her chin up so he could look her in the eye. 'Bolly? Bolly – look at me. Time for beddy-byes, Bolls.'

Alex focused just enough to recognise a friendly face. 'Gene! Come to blow out my candles...' she giggled in a sodden sort of way, and flung her arms round his neck.

'That's your cue, Gene,' said Carol drily.

Gene hauled himself to his feet, then scooped Alex into his arms. Carol took Alex's jacket, and followed them out, Luigi watching with concern as his tenant was escorted upstairs. Gene set Alex on her feet at the top of the steps to catch his breath, and the chilly night woke Alex up a bit.

'Help. I'm being kidnapped,' Alex muttered. Giggled.

'Carol, can you come up and get her into bed?' said Gene.

'What – don't want to have to undress her? Or afraid she'll throw up on your snakeskin boots?' Carol teased him. 'Come on then.'

Gene shook Alex gently. 'Oi, Bollykecks – can you walk upstairs? Come on, Wonder Woman.'

He steered her inside, but Alex's comprehension of steps was lost, and she would have fallen face down on the stairs had Gene not caught her and swung her up into his arms.

'You look as if you've had some practice at this, Gene,' said Carol, a tinge of acid in her voice.

'There's a clause in the CID contract, Carol. Female DIs are entitled to a conveyance of choice, and naturally DI Drake opted for me as her personal mule.'

He was panting as he made it to the second floor landing and dumped Alex on her feet. 'Key's in her jacket pocket.'

Carol rummaged, found the Banham key, and opened the door. Gene tipped Alex over his shoulder and carried her in, dumping her on the bed. 'She's all yours, Carol.'

He left Carol to it, prowling round the kitchen looking for whisky as Sgt Watkins tended to DI Drake.

Carol pulled off Alex's boots and socks and peeled off her jeans, then ferreted in the chest of drawers for a nightie or pyjamas. All she could find was a black satin thing, but it would do. Checking Gene was well out of sight, Carol took off Alex's top and bra, stuffed her into the black top, and pulled the duvet over her.

'OK, Gene, she's done.'

'Thanks, Carol. I'm grateful. I'll sit with her for ten minutes – just to make sure she doesn't throw up.' Gene risked a glance at Carol, who was looking at him with both eyebrows in the on position, a look that plods and temporary guests would have recognised as extreme scepticism.

'You and Alex...'

'No, Carol.'

'Gene. This is me you're talking to. I know you.'

'Yes, Carol. But no, Carol. DI Drake has a boyfriend, I have a woman. We are colleagues. Full stop.'

'Pull the other one – it whistles Dixie. You're in love with her, Gene.'

'Bollocks. She's a stroppy cow, nuttier than Cadbury's. Drives us all mad.'

'Uhuh. She's a lucky girl. But you will tell her, won't you?'

Before Gene could respond, Carol kissed his cheek and left.

Gene wandered in to the bedroom and stood for a moment, looking down at Alex somewhere between sleep and unconsciousness. He sat on the edge of the bed and watched her breathing, gently reaching to stroke her hair, brush a curl off her cheek. It would be the easiest thing in the world to slide under the covers and curl up with her. He hadn't wanted something so badly for many years. Ever. He willed her to wake up, to put her arms round him, ask him to stay, ask him to make love to her.

Alex muttered in her sleep and turned on to her side, mumbling to herself, scratching her nose. She looked about nine, and Gene wanted to gather her up, hold her, keep her safe, make her happy. He sat stroking her hair, lost in his thoughts, while she slept, his love, dreaming sweet dreams.

Gene left eventually, not wanting to be there when Alex woke with the worst hangover since Johnny Walker met the Widow Cliquot. Kissing Alex's forehead, he turned the light out and pulled the door to as quietly as he could, making sure it was securely latched before leaving the building and heading home to an empty house and fractured sleep.

TBC

_Big thanks for beta-ing to Gene's Gilly. Fabulous encouragement as well as a fine eye for detail. _


	10. Birthdays

The worst hangover in history duly made itself known, around ten the following morning. Alex lurched to the bathroom, then to the kitchen, swallowed three glasses of water, forced down a banana with paracetamol for afters, and went back to bed for five minutes.

She woke again just before midday, feeling not much better, but then remembered with a start that not only was she due at little Alex's birthday party at two, but that she was then due to meet Harry at six for an early dinner before the concert. She groaned, the thought of pretending to be alive for the next twelve hours almost beyond bearing. But by the time Gene banged on the door, Alex was dressed, birthday presents wrapped, and loins girded for the social whirl.

They arrived as a clutch of parents were pushing children into the house, muttering dire threats about behaving, and promises to return later. They found little Alex in the drawing room, surrounded by presents and mounds of wrapping paper, flushed and squawking with excitement. Too shy to do more than smile at them, the child took the parcels that Gene handed her and ran into the kitchen, shouting for Evan.

An hour later, Alex sat in the window of the dining room, watching Gene drawing animals for a knot of kids, all squashed round his chair, none of them closer than little Alex who was leaning against him, her arm round his neck.

Wish I had the nerve to do that, thought her adult self, soaking up the picture of DCI Hunt off duty, in jeans and a black roll-neck jersey, a natural child magnet, absorbed in showing them the difference between crocodiles and alligators.

Why don't I remember this birthday party? I remember getting a huge poster of Shakin' Stevens, and I loved that big box of coloured pencils and pastels; had it till I went to university. But I don't remember Gene giving them to me. Don't remember Gene at all.

'Who'd have thought it?' Evan's quiet voice broke into her thoughts. 'Can you imagine what Caroline would think if she were here now?'

Alex looked up at him, tears shining, and chuckled. 'Not really. The Manc Lion at play, eh? Cubs aren't afraid of him, are they?'

'You two friends, now?'

'Sometimes. He's not an easy man to know.'

'I've missed you, Alex. Haven't seen you for months. Why don't you spend more time with us?'

'I... it's...'

'We remind you of what happened.'

'It's not just that.'

Evan squeezed her shoulder. 'It's lovely to have you here now.'

'It's great to be here. By the way, I've left Alex's presents on top of the fridge. Give them to her later. The copy of _Look In_ – I've got her a year's subscription; the squashy one's a pair of legwarmers, and there's a book – Beshlie's _Romany Wood_. A friend of mine had one when I was Alex's age, and I adored it. Always wanted my own.'

'It's very sweet of you – she'll be thrilled.'

'Oh, I think Gene's top of the thrilling department – look at her. She's entranced.'

The birthday girl was now leaning against Gene's knee, gazing at his face as he was talking – something about crocodiles carrying their babies in their mouths.

'You had the same look on your face just now,' Evan said drily.

Alex blushed. 'Well... I was just amused at the sight of big scary old Gene Hunt doing _Jackanory_.'

'Hmm. Amused is not the word I'd have employed in that sentence, DI Drake.'

Evan was laughing at her; Alex hit him casually. 'Stop it. I need a drink.'

She stood up and followed Evan into the kitchen. 'When's your birthday, by the way?' he asked as he poured her a glass of wine.

'Yesterday, actually.'

'Oh – how funny... Well – happy belated birthday,' he said, and kissed her.

'Thanks.'

'I wish I'd known – we could have had a double celebration.'

'Celebration of what?' said Gene, wandering into the kitchen, finally released from servitude.

'It was Alex's birthday yesterday as well.'

For a split second Gene looked hurt. 'Daft tart. Why didn't you tell us? Afraid we'd give you the bumps?'

'Knowing you lot, I would have expected to be debagged. I'm not that hot on birthdays.'

'Your loss. We could have got the CID bunting out. It might still say "28 and never been kissed" after Chris's birthday, but we could have changed the 2 to a 3 for you.'

Alex narrowed her eyes and hissed at him, then smiled grudgingly. 'And you wonder why I didn't tell anyone.'

The door bell rang. 'Exodus begins,' said Evan, answering the summons.

Alex put her empty glass on the table. 'I'd better get going.'

'Come on then. We'll say goodbye and I'll get you home.'

'Oh, er, thanks, but I'm going into town.'

'Where are you headed?'

'St Martin's Lane. I want to have a look at some bookshops.'

'Cecil Court?'

'Alex looked at Gene in surprise. 'Yes...'

'Don't look so shocked. I can read, you know.'

'I didn't know you collected books, though.'

'You don't know a lot, Bolly. Come on, I've got first editions to track down.'

Saying goodbye took longer than expected, because the kids were determined not to let Gene go without a fight. He was tugged by both hands by little girls wanting more entertainment, and wide-eyed boys clamouring for stories of guns and villains from their own pet policeman. Just as well they don't know he's more Regan than Hutch, thought Alex. Gene resisted them easily enough, but his undoing was the young Miss Price. She ran to him and flung her arms round his waist, looking up at him towering over her. 'Please don't go. The boys are being naughty and you promised...'

Gene lifted her up, leaning back so he could look her in the eye. 'You, little lady, have got those boys under your thumb. You're smart, and pretty, and in charge. But if you really need me, I'll be there, don't worry.'

He kissed her cheek and put her back on her feet, leaving her with a smile, his hand on her head like a blessing. The adult Alex felt herself dissolve, the longing for him so fierce she could barely stand.

She was quiet as they drove into town; thoughts of Molly and her younger self painful and confused. She watched Gene drive, his hands light on the wheel, skilled and assured. Fleeting images of those hands on her body flashed through her mind, disturbing, heated images. She dragged up thoughts of Harry instead, pretty, selfish Harry, who could just about satisfy her body but left her wanting so much more.

Gene parked in Bedfordbury, just behind the Coliseum, and they wandered into Cecil Court, home to more than a dozen antiquarian bookshops. Alex stopped suddenly. 'Oh, wow – Gene, sorry, got to go and look at this.' She dashed into the shop, and Gene followed her. She'd already collared the bookseller, who was extracting a volume from the window.

'What have you found, Bolls?'

'It's Peake's _Alice_ – I've never seen it.' Alex took the book carefully, turned the pages, marvelling at the fierce, delicate illustrations. 'Look – have you ever seen a crosser White Rabbit?' Gene stood at her shoulder, looking at the frowning creature marching down a tunnel speared through with roots, and sneaking a glance at Alex's face, her eyes shining with delight, lost in a world of ink and woodpulp. He left her to it, and went to find the bookseller.

'Don't suppose you've got a first edition of Charles Portis's _True Grit_? Or any early Zane Grey?' he asked in firm tones, checking to see if Alex was still absorbed. No worries there – she was sitting on a step, head bent over her find.

Gene pulled the bookseller to the back of the shop and spoke softly. 'If the lady wants to buy, tell her it's reserved.'

'But...' the bookseller started to protest.

'It's reserved. By me. How much is it?'

'I'm afraid it's fifty-three pounds, sir. Wingate 1954, first impression, very nice condition.'

'What is it, anyway?' said Gene, wondering what he was about to invest in.

'_Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ and _Through the Looking Glass_ – illustrated by Mervyn Peake.'

'Right. Here's fifty quid,' said Gene, slipping a large red note into the bookseller's hand. 'I'll be back in ten minutes.'

True to his word, Gene was back, having seen Alex on her way to Pall Mall. The bookseller exchanged a neatly wrapped parcel for the remaining three pounds, and smiled broadly up at Gene.

'I've given you a little extra, sir. A paperback copy of Peake's _Nonsense Verse_. I thought the lady might enjoy it.'

Gene returned the bookseller's smile, co-conspirators in pleasure to come.

xxxxxxxx

Alex reached the Traveller's Club a couple of minutes after six, feeling in need of a drink. But when she asked at the desk for Harry, the porter gave her a small envelope. The message was brief. _'So sorry, darling. Tried to ring you. Called away to a family emergency. Will make it up to you – promise. H.'_ The bastard. Now she had two hours to kill, and a concert to sit through alone. Well, she was fine without him. Who needed the useless tosser anyway?

Sod you, Harry Haggerty. I'm damned if I'm giving up my evening because you're a complete shit. Family emergency, yeah, right. If it had been genuine, he'd have been specific. Grandma Moses has got a burning bush. My sister's gone off with a Nazi. Dad's gone off with a bang.

Alex realised she was glaring daggers at the porter. She broke into a polite little laugh. 'Sorry. Men! Such bad liars. Oops – nothing personal.'

She sauntered out to Pall Mall, trying not to think about finding Gene, and walked back to Charing Cross Road. There was tiny Middle Eastern café on the corner of Cecil Court, where her mother used to take her sometimes after seeing a film in Leicester Square. Just the thing for a hangover cure.

At ten to eight, pleasantly full of baba ganoush and honey cakes, Alex was in her seat at St Martin in the Fields, watching people filter in. The seat to her left would be empty, of course, devoid of the Haggerty arse, but a young man sat down to her right. Very young, geeky, tall and scrawny. He looked lost. Alex nodded to him.

'You like Bach?'

'Um, yes. My dad's in the Choir. Tenor.'

'Wow. He must be good. Do you sing too?'

They chatted till the lights faded, and the Monteverdi Choir came in, followed by the English Baroque Soloists, the solo voices, and John Eliot Gardiner. To hear them perform Bach's _B Minor Mass_ live was quite a thrill – the recording they'd make in 1985 was exceptional.

At the interval, Alex's geeky neighbour shot off, to reappear just as the houselights went down again. The _Sanctus_ reduced Alex to tears, as it always did, and the finale, with its gleaming brass tones and soaring voices, had her – with the rest of the audience – on her feet cheering, as the last notes died to an echo.

Outside, on the steps of the church, Alex caught sight of her neighbour, looking desolate. 'Hello again – are you OK?'

'Oh... my father's had to go. We were supposed to be going out for dinner...'

'Poor you. I was stood up tonight, too. We're both poor abandoned lambs,' she smiled.

The lad looked at her, aghast. 'Someone stood you up?'

'Oh, yes. Shall we go and get a drink?'

So Alex and the eighteen year old Noel Roden went to the Lemon Tree and propped up the bar. Noel got drunk very quickly, while Alex, for a change, stayed fairly sober – partly out of respect for her liver, and partly out of a sense of maternal responsibility. Turned out he was heading for the naval base at Portsmouth in the morning, to join his first ship. Alex turned cold when he told her the name. _HMS Sheffield_. The ship which, in almost exactly two months, would be sunk by an Argentinian missile in the waters off the Falkland Islands.

'Where are you staying tonight, Noel?'

'With my dad.'

'Where does he live?'

'Warwick Road.'

Piccadilly Line to Earl's Court, and a few minutes' walk. He'd be OK, she thought. Noel only told her, at quarter to midnight, when they got to Leicester Square tube, that it was Warwick Road, Twickenham.

Alex took him back to her flat. She wasn't going to pay for a cab to the wilds of Middlesex, and she couldn't leave him. Tucking him up on the sofa, Alex knelt beside him while he mumbled drunken apologies, with tears. Alex thought about the sofa's last lodger, and yellow roses.

'Go to sleep, Noel. The bathroom's through the door behind you, OK?'

Alex heard him throwing up at some stage in the night, and at eight o'clock found him perched on a stool in the kitchen, looking ashen. She fed him water and paracetamol, and steered him to her bedroom. 'Get another couple of hours' kip, my dear.'

She left him face down on her bed, and went to check the bathroom. Noel was a tidy up-chucker – no evidence except for a sour hint of stomach acid in the air. He'd do well in the navy.

Alex's Sunday morning peace was disturbed just after ten by a knock on the front door. Damn Harry, thought Alex. Come round to crawl – he can crawl straight back under his stone. She yanked open the door, to find Gene on the landing.

'What's happened? Have they brought someone in?'

'Good morning, Bolly. Yes, thanks, fine and dandy. Yes, how kind. I'd love a cup.' Gene looked as though he'd swallowed a wasp.

'Sorry, Gene. I wasn't expecting... anyone. I assumed...'

'You're always assuming the position, Bolly. Usually the wrong one. Never mind – you look very fetching with your foot in your mouth.'

Alex chuckled. 'It's one way of keeping supple,' she said, eyes glinting.

'Why didn't you say it was your birthday?'

She shrugged. 'Dunno, really. Didn't think about it before, and we had other things to do on Friday.'

'Hmm. I thought we might go out somewhere. Ever seen the _Cutty Sark_? Lunch, if you like. Whatever you fancy. If you're not busy...' He handed Alex the white-wrapped parcel. 'Anyway – here. Happy birthday.'

Alex looked at him in mute surprise, then sat down to open her present. First was the slim volume of nonsense poems. Alex's face split into a huge grin when she saw the cover, and looked up at Gene with undisguised pleasure. 'You're brilliant – thank you!'

'Nonsense. Your language, Mrs Fruitcake. Should be plain as day to you.'

Alex returned to her unwrapping, and as she started to undo the tissue paper, suddenly looked up again, all apprehension. 'You didn't...' she whispered, and ripped the remaining tissue paper away. There was Peake's _Alice_, in its white paper nest. Alex drew it out with reverence, holding it to her face and breathing in its inky scent, before putting it down carefully.

She stood, looking very serious all of a sudden. 'Gene... I don't know what to say. It's a wonderful, wonderful present. Thank you. Thank you so much.'

She took two steps, reached up, gave him a kiss, and wrapped her arms round him for a hug. Gene pulled her in to him, held her, and held her, till she felt drunk on the magic.

'Psst...' Gene murmured. 'You gone to sleep?'

Alex opened her eyes to see his so close she couldn't focus on them properly. Gene leant his forehead to hers, and they rubbed noses. 'Fruitcake always was my favourite,' he muttered, then kissed her. When it ended she could hardly see straight and was shaking like she had the palsy; Gene was breathing hard. He ran a finger lightly down her nose to her mouth; she took his finger between her teeth and touched her tongue lightly to the tip. Gene took a sharp breath and his smile vanished. Alex couldn't have looked away from those sea-bright eyes for the four-minute warning – he made Svengali look like an amateur.

Gene brushed his thumb across her lips, then reached his hand behind her head to pull her mouth to his for more.

Never mind the book: Gene's kiss was a real gift. It was sensational. Not only was it headline-grabbing stuff, but Alex's world had shrunk to sensations – touch, taste, scent, sound – especially lovely, electric touch, nerve endings on double time firing pulses up and down her spine and through every cell till she could feel the nuclei dancing.

'Oh, sorry...' a husky London voice broke them apart.

'_Jesus_!' Gene exclaimed, hand at his chest in shock. Then, instantly, 'What the fuck...?' He glared at Alex in utter disbelief. 'You... _Christ_!'

He flung the front door back on its hinges and stormed out. Alex, galvanised into movement, hurled herself after him, leaping down the stairs, barely touching the steps. She caught him on the first floor landing, grabbing his shoulder, slamming him against the wall. 'Don't you bloody run out on me! You accuse _me_ of jumping to conclusions... what do you think I _am_? Huh? _Huh_?' She shoved him in the chest, her eyes blazing.

'What the fuck do you think I think?' he yelled at her. 'You're kissing me like... like you meant it,' he paused for breath. 'And then some half-dressed _tosser_ wanders out of your bedroom. What am I supposed to think?'

'Maybe thinking would be a start, rather than just reacting,' Alex yelled back. 'Maybe it would be _nice_ if you gave me the benefit of the doubt occasionally, instead of stamping off in a tantrum.'

'Maybe, Mrs Bolly No-Knickers, it would be _nice_ if, just once, we could have a row without you hitting me.' There was the glimmer of a smile in his gaze.

Alex's kiss demanded the soul from his body; captive under the soft steel of her, he was weak with wanting, incapable of moving, open to her interrogation.

She pulled away from him as a door opened and Luigi's head emerged, drawn by their shouting. The Italian's romantic spirit rose in a beaming smile, and he nodded his deep approval before disappearing again.

'Shit. Don't need an audience. Come back up,' said Alex, dragging Gene after her.

'What about kiddo upstairs?'

'Kiddo is eighteen, hungover, scared, and abandoned by his talented, selfish father. He's joining his ship at Portsmouth today, and might be dead in two months.'

Alex brushed her fingers through Gene's hair as she stood one step above him, caught in the tractor beam of his gaze. 'He's leaving in a minute, then we'll have the day to ourselves. Come and talk to him.'

Gene held her at the waist, his hands slipping under her sweatshirt to find satin skin, caressing, promising. 'As long as he's gone before I die of heatstroke,' he growled.

Noel was dressed and ready to go, twitchy with embarrassment; Alex made them tea while Gene did his best to put the boy at ease. At eleven, Noel got to his feet. 'I've got to go. Train's at two, and I've got to get my kit first.'

Leaving Gene in the flat, Alex walked Noel round to Tower Hill tube, and wished him luck with a fervour he couldn't possibly comprehend.

'I'll never forget you,' he said with sudden passion. 'I can't believe how kind you've been, and I wish...' Noel ducked his head for a moment, then straightened and took a deep breath. 'I'll send you a postcard whenever we get shore leave.' His smile was a bit wobbly; Alex hugged him with fierce, protective affection, and watched him stride away without a backward look.

How brave the young were, she thought. How merciless their rulers, who send them towards their deaths with a scribble of black ink.

She hurried back to Scarborough Street and raced upstairs to find her front door open. Harry was there, an enormous bunch of flowers and a bottle of champagne held like shield and mace as he squared up to a murderous-looking Gene. As she stepped through the door, the phone rang. Saved by the trill, she thought, as she snatched it up.

'We've got one, Boss. Ray's bringing him in now. I'm trying to get hold of the Guv.'

'He's here – just arrived, Chris. We'll be right over.' She hung up and turned to Gene.

'Suspect on the way in, Guv.'

'Right. I'll leave you to your Sunday,' he snapped, snatching up his coat and pushing past Harry.

'Hang on, I'm coming with you.'

'Don't bother. Don't need you.' Gene leapt down the stairs and was gone.

Harry held out the gargantuan bouquet. 'Darling Alex, happy birthday...' he hung his head and pouted like a ham actor. '... and humble apologies for last night.' He gave her a winsome smile; she had to grit her teeth to stop herself slapping him.

'Got to go. Slam the door when you leave.'

And she was out and down the stairs, chasing after Gene.

TBC

_Again, many, many thanks to Gene's Gilly for lovely beta._


	11. Purgatory

**Please note: there's some VERY strong content in this chapter. But also note, this is NOT turning into a horror story. This is the worst bit, the turning point for the plot, and for Gene. All will resolve, happiness ahoy. Don't let this put you off... See note at end...**

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

'Don't be ridiculous. How can you imagine that I would risk the life of my own daughter?' Dr Govinder Dev, not yet 30, taught part-time at Montague Road Secondary while working on his second PhD at Imperial College.

Gene, arms folded, tipped his chair back and watched the young man swallowing his anger at being questioned.

'Of course not, Dr Dev. ' Alex leant across the desk, her voice low. Dev, expecting aggression, was wrong-footed.

'But your daughter wasn't meant to be in school this morning, was she?' Alex continued, as Gene sat forward, propping his elbows on the desk beside her.

'We weren't sure if she was well enough, when we had to leave for work. In the end my father decided she was fine, and took her in.'

'Who wasn't sure? Your wife left the house before you did, so it was your decision to keep Anita off school. In fact, your wife had no idea that Anita was supposed to be ill. Did she?'

'You know what kids are like...'

'Yes, Dr Dev, I do. And it's unusual for a child to be fine when she gets up, and ill after breakfast. What exactly was wrong with her?'

'I don't know. Headache, stomach ache – she was whingeing...'

'Oh, very sympathetic. And very caring of you,' said Gene, acidly. 'Is your father a cruel man?'

Dev frowned. 'No. He is kindly, and loves Anita.'

'But he dragged her into school despite her complaints. Very kindly.'

'She must have felt better.'

'Bit of a shame, that. Might have stopped you, if you'd known she was in the playground, eh?' Gene's voice was dangerously calm.

The door opened, and Duffy put his head into the room. 'Ma'am? There's someone to see you.'

'Not now, Duffy.'

'Um... it's DCI Clark, Ma'am.'

Alex shot Gene a look. Gene nodded. 'Duffy, take the good doctor here back downstairs. We'll resume our chat later.'

Graham Clark was in Gene's chair, and after standing to greet Alex, sat back down. 'DI Drake, we're calling you in. There has been a warning of a nature that we can't ignore.'

'OK, sir. If that's OK with DCI Hunt,' she turned to look at Gene, who was standing with his back to the door, arms folded, scepticism written all over him.

'Do I have any say in the matter?' he asked sourly.

'Not really, I'm afraid,' said Clark. 'You did agree that we could call on DI Drake whenever necessary.'

'I wasn't given a great deal of choice.'

'We have something slightly bigger to worry about than little local matters.'

Gene became very still, and his voice had a very sharp edge to it. 'We are investigating a bombing incident which severely injured seven young children and five adults. Would you dismiss them as "a little local matter"?'

Clark recognised danger signals, and had the sense to back off. 'No. But DI Drake can help us avert a potentially disastrous threat. It should only be for a matter of three or four days. We'll go via your flat so you can pack a bag.'

'What? Where am I going?'

'Safe house.'

'Why?' Gene was jolted from his laid-back stance. 'What's the risk?'

'Not a safe house. More of a... secure conference venue. There's no risk to the liaison team, Hunt. Makes life easier, that's all.'

'Easier for you.'

'Actually, no. For me it's a pain in the arse. Fret not, no-one's going to fiddle with your DI. Unless she plays the first chord, of course.'

Clark smirked. Gene took a fraction of a second to rein himself in, and turned to Alex with something like a leer on his face. 'Well, Drake, can you whistle a happy tune for our Special Branch colleagues?'

Alex gave him her sickly sweet smile. 'Not a note, Guv. Tone deaf.'

'Right. If you'll give us two minutes, Clark, I'll extract some information from Drake about little local matters, and then she's all yours.' Gene opened the door and ushered Clark out. Leaving the door open, Gene leaned against the partition. 'Right, Drake – anything you need to hand over?'

Carefully, his hand below window level so that no-one watching could see, Gene crooked his fingers to Alex; she wandered over and leaned back against the glass, a good foot away from him. With equal care, she reached for his hand, keeping an expression of mild irritation on her face, and in her voice.

'Everything's in hand, Guv,' she said, squeezing his fingers. 'We made a breakthrough this morning; I'll give it some thought while I'm away.'

'I trust you will.

'I'm sure if I sleep on it I'll come to a conclusion.'

Gene twitched. 'I'll hold you to that, Drake.' He stroked his thumb across her palm. She felt herself begin to melt, so before she gave herself away to the detectives beyond the glass, she squeezed his hand for the last time and let go.

'Right, Clark, she's your problem now. Behave yourself, Drake. I'll think of you all singing Kumbaya round the campfire. Send us a postcard.'

xxxxxxxxxx

Clark drove Alex to the safe house, somewhere in North Essex; she kept track as far as Saffron Walden, but after that the road signs vanished, and they wound through a succession of narrow, unmarked roads with few landmarks. It was dark by the time they reached a solid brick Edwardian house; large, but undistinguished. There was nothing special about it – a house you'd drive past without a sideways glance.

The liaison team met over dinner: there were seven of them, including Alex – two from the Met, one from the City force, one from Manchester, and three from Belfast. Expertise ranged widely: bomb disposal, counter-terrorism, explosives and ballistics, paramilitary organisations, religious fundamentalist groups, even handwriting analysis. The ice-breaker evening saw the team and their ops liaison from Special Branch and MI5, talking shop and arguing over sport. Alcohol was limited to an aperitif and one glass of wine with dinner, but it had been a hell of a day, and Alex retreated just after ten, bored of sport and wanting to think about the morning, and Gene.

_Gene_... If Noel hadn't been there... if work hadn't got in the way... she and Gene would be in bed together. Would have spent all day together. All night. She had not a shred of doubt about it. _That kiss..._ his touch, the way he felt beneath her hands, her mouth on his, his tongue against hers, the heat...

Alex writhed in frustration as she lay between cool sheets, her body responding to a wraith; she cried out for him, wanting the warm weight of his body on hers, all that intensity and strength focused on her, open to him, submitting to the power of his touch, making him tremble with desire...

Well, she'd promised him that she'd come to a conclusion. Alex laughed softly to herself, panting, wet, tingling, exhausted. She slept.

xxxxxxxx

Gene, working his way through a bottle of Scotch at Luigi's, switched between hot fantasies of Alex and vengeful plots against everyone that stood between them – the sailor boy, that Special Branch dickhead, the smart-arse suspect Dev, and most of all, Haggerty. Without the interfering bastard lot of them, he and Alex would be upstairs, naked, senseless with sweaty lust.

The phone rang, the sound barely cutting through Gene's haze of whisky and fantasy; Luigi was holding the phone out to him, and there was no smile on his face. 'Alex?'

'Gene? Gene! Help me, for god's sake...'

'Miranda?'

'Please, darling, he's going to kill me... Gene, please, _please_...' There was a scream, 'No, Jack, _no_!' Another scream... and the line went dead.

For a moment, Gene didn't move. For a moment, he wanted Miranda dead. He was too drunk to drive up to Islington. If she really was in danger, she'd probably be dead by the time he got there. If she wasn't, then it didn't matter anyway. But for all that he hated the vicious bitch, wanted her out of his life, he couldn't ignore any woman screaming in fear. Maybe he should take Ray. No... Miranda was his private hell...

Gene pushed himself to his feet. He knew he was drunk, but his head wasn't spinning, and he was steady enough on his feet.

'Mister Hunt – you want me to call a cab for you?' Luigi's dark eyes were shaded with worry. 'The signorina would not want you to drive home...'

'The signorina isn't here, Luigi. She's buggered off, so why don't you do the same, and leave me alone?'

Gene walked carefully out of the bar and up to his car, breathing in the cold air, feeling the chill hit him. For a moment it made his head swim, but standing on the pavement while he took a few deep breaths, he felt his head clearing, his mind sharpening. Just as well it was late on Sunday night, and the roads were fairly empty. As it was, Gene had a couple of near misses, his reflexes slowed disastrously by alcohol. No space in Theberton Street, so he parked in Liverpool Road and ran back to Miranda's house, hammering on the door. After 30 seconds, the door opened; Gene pushed in, and fell to the floor as something crashed down on his head. _Voices – man, woman. Being dragged upstairs, dropped flat, hands tugging, struggling, trying to shout..._ Another blow, and nothing.

Gene woke, head banging, jaw throbbing, vision blurred. He was in Miranda's bedroom, flat on the bed, naked. He tried to sit up, but he couldn't move: struggling, he realised he was tied hand and foot, spread like a starfish.

He panicked for a moment, jerking against the restraints, feeling trapped, helpless. Then the rage boiled up. _Vicious, lying bitch. Should have known. Pissed... not thinking straight... stupid._ He yanked against the ties again, succeeding only in hurting his wrists; the pain began to clear his head. _Think, Gene, think..._

The voice of his nightmares cut into his anger. 'He's awake. Ah, look, he's a bit cross. Bless him...'

Miranda was naked except for a large crucifix hanging between her breasts, and a double chain of thin metal links fastened tight around her waist. She sauntered across to the bed and looked down at Gene, licking her lips. 'Jack, my love, come and say hello to our prize puppy.'

Following her came a man: tall, saturnine, fit, naked. The last time Gene had seen him, he was on the platform at the Tower of London, lecturing the audience on bomb threats. Jack Carteret, director of Countermeasure. He had a belt of sisal and some kind of animal hide at his waist, and the same kind of metal chain as Miranda's, but strapped tightly round one thigh; Gene saw a thin trickle of blood oozing from under the links. A gold crucifix, studded with red stones, was at his throat. The man's body was whipcord thin, muscles defined under white skin seamed and stitched with old scars; his face was gaunt, black eyes feverish in deep set sockets, aquiline nose over full red lips. His dick was semi-erect, but didn't look as if it could inflict much damage.

Gene nodded at the offending member. 'No wonder you're jealous. Your old woman prefers a good strong salami to a frankfurter, don't you, love?'

Gene was laughing when Carteret lashed out, flaying Gene's chest with a knotted rope like a cat o' nine tails. 'Show some respect,' he spat.

Gene hissed with the burn of it. He was damned if he was going to play their game, but he knew it was going to be painful. He couldn't see a way out, couldn't find any weakness in his restraints.

'Darling...' murmured Miranda, running the tips of her fingers along Gene's thigh, 'you shouldn't laugh at Jack. He doesn't like it. Well,' she giggled, 'it depends on how much pain you can take...' She dug her nails in.

Gene didn't even flinch. 'You sweet old-fashioned thing, you. What do you and the Mad Monk want?'

Carteret came to stand at the foot of the bed. 'You're here to serve.'

Miranda went to her husband's side, rubbed herself against him. 'I told you, my sweet. Jack was getting a bit jealous of our little love games, so he thought you owed him, shall we say, a tribute.'

'If you want me to applaud, you'd better untie me.'

Carteret sneered. 'Do I look stupid?'

Gene laughed. 'Yes, since you ask.'

Carteret was silent for a moment, pulling the rope scourge through his hand and glaring at Gene with loathing.

'This is called a Discipline. Nine strands of rope in one, the ends knotted in a traditional way to cause exquisite pain. Monks and ascetics have used this for over a thousand years to mortify the flesh. You're arrogant and vulgar, Hunt, and you need to learn a little humility.'

Gene was defiant. 'I don't do humble, you bastard. I don't like pain, but it only hurts. So I'll say ouch, and you can get your pervy kicks.'

With a hissing breath, Carteret swung the lash over his shoulder, scourging his own back, before punishing Gene. '_Ow_. Yes, that hurts,' he said through clenched teeth.

_These twisted bastards do this to themselves every day. It won't kill me. Use it – use the pain to concentrate. Think. _

Another lash. One knot caught Gene's chin, another flicked the tender skin of his inner arm. He moaned before he could stop himself.

Miranda caught the sound and squirmed with excitement. Carteret grabbed her and forced her to her knees, wrapping the scourge round her throat and jerking it tight, yanking her head back against his thighs.

'Say it...' snarled Carteret. 'Speak the prayer...'

'Loved be pain...' she croaked. 'Sanctified be pain...'

'_Sanctus, et gloria Deo..._' hissed Carteret, jerking at the rope.

'...glorified be pain!' sobbed Miranda, sounding genuinely frightened.

_Christ on a bike... on a spike – this is sick. Twisted fucker_. He struggled, groaning loudly to distract the bastard. It didn't work – this was one ruthless dickhead. _Worth knowing._

'Please...' Miranda was begging. Carteret released her, and Miranda turned to face him, putting one hand on his hip and taking his skinny, semi-erect cock in the other, stroking his balls and moaning like a pro.

Gene turned his face away as Miranda sucked her husband off, but looked back as Carteret began to groan. Gene met Carteret's stare, the black eyes glittering in triumph. Gene stared him out, until Carteret spiralled towards orgasm. Suddenly he pushed Miranda away and climbed on to the bed, kneeling over Gene's chest.

'Whore – here.'

Miranda took her husband in hand for the few seconds he needed, and grunting through clenched teeth, veins standing out on his forehead, Carteret came in Gene's face.

'Best thing for the skin, I'm told. Lots of vitamins.' Gene said calmly.

_I can wait, you sadistic ponce. Enjoy your bollocks while you've still got them. _

Carteret saw the threat in Gene's eyes, and smiled as he climbed off his captive. 'Waste not, want not.'

Miranda slithered on top of Gene and licked the spunk off his face, writhing and moaning; Gene could feel her hand, surreptitiously working between them, stroking herself to a climax as she licked his face. Losing herself, Miranda tried to kiss Gene, but Carteret missed nothing. He put one foot to Miranda's hip and kicked her off the bed; she fell awkwardly, yelping in pain, then lay on the floor, whimpering.

Carteret didn't even glance at her. He was looking at Gene's erection. 'Lust and pride. Deadly sins. Deadly, Mr Hunt. You need saving from yourself.'

'I'll take my chances, Jackass. You've had your fun, now fuck off.'

Carteret smirked, and knelt between Gene's legs, bending to his self-appointed task. Gene was shocked rigid when the hot, wet mouth engulfed the head of his cock; the fucking pervert was giving him the best blow job of his life, one hand doing magical things to his balls, the other squeezing his arse.

_Jesus fucking Christ but he knows what he's doing... filthy bastard... I'll... nail his scrotum to his... to his... Christ!_

As Carteret's finger pushed into his arse, Gene came like a geyser, roaring defiance and fury at a world he couldn't control.

xxxxxxxx

'There are many ways to God, brother.'

Gene was spent. _I'd like to see you explaining that to St Peter, you cunt._

'But ecstasy has a price. You are going to pay it now. Miranda...' He beckoned to Miranda, who handed him a kitchen knife.

_Christ. Christ. Not... No..._

Carteret saw that he'd finally sparked fear in the heretic. He started to laugh, a gutteral, polluted sound that had nothing to do with joy or lightness of spirit. 'Ah, no, beloved brother. We need you alive. Trust in the mercy of the Lord.'

_If I thought the bastard existed I'd be singing hymns now._

Gene saw Carteret come towards his head, holding the knife, a small, serrated thing with a point. He struggled, fighting the restraints, unable to lie there and wait to be sliced open.

'If you move, it'll hurt more, and I'll make a mess. Which will mean I'll have to start again, somewhere else. Now lie still and rejoice in your suffering.'

_I'll save the rejoicing till I've got your head on a spike, arsewipe._

Carteret knelt at Gene's right shoulder and began to cut.

'Nothing to say, Sister Superior?' Gene spoke through clenched teeth, breath hissing as the agony washed through him.

Standing behind her husband, watching the blood flow, Miranda giggled, but said nothing.

_And we're worried about bomb threats. These two are madder than a bunkerful of Nazis. _

Time began to drift, as Carteret worked in silence; Gene was drowning in the pain. He surfaced at the sound of Miranda's voice.

'Jack... my lord. It's late. We should go.'

'It's done. He is marked for God.'

Gene lost consciousness.

xxxxxxxx

Gene jerked awake, his limbs convulsing. He was still on Miranda's bed, but he was free. The house was silent – the Carterets were gone.

His shoulder was a mess, blood on the bed and the floor. But his arm worked, even if it felt like it was soaked in acid; he found his clothes and dressed. He was down the stairs and half way to the front door when he stopped.

Copper's nous. They wouldn't have left anything incriminating here. But he might get something, couldn't leave without at least looking. The house was clean, tidy – except for the blood in the bedroom.

Which would be damning.

If he reported it.

If he told anybody.

If he admitted to what happened here.

Gene thought about the consequences. Thought about his career and his reputation. Fuck that. Who cared about his reputation on the Costa Blanca?

But Alex. _Alex_...

He mooched round the house, looking at the videos by the TV, photos framed on walls and shelves. Pulled open a few drawers. Nothing leapt out at him. He stared at the bookshelves, floor to ceiling along one wall of the sitting room.

A shelf at chest height caught his eye – or the bookends did – ornate, heavy crucifixes. Leather-bound bible, fine. Lots of god-squad titles. Authors he'd never heard of – Aleister Crowley, Gobineau; Mohler, Benoist, Peronnik; three books by Evola, all with Italian titles. Nothing. He pulled out one at random: _The Lightning and the Sun_ – Savitri Devi. The image on the cover was familiar... but he couldn't place it. Then a book he knew, by General John Hackett – his novel from a couple of years earlier: _The Third World War: August 1985_. Scary stuff. Scarier stuff to its right – _Mein Kampf_.

His mind spat out a memory. Countermeasure's logo. A lightning bolt with a sunblaze behind it. They'd taken it from the Devi book cover. Same image.

Kinky Catholics reading Nazi nonsense and eastern religion. There was a pungent smell wafting from the shelf. Rat. A definite smell of large, stinky, sewer rat.

TBC

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**A/N**: That's the worst over. Please stick with it – nothing more like that from now on, promise. This was the big plot set-up. NB All the stuff in this chapter is based on some astonishing history, and real names, with the most amazing links turning up all the time as I researched. Almost spookily so, in fact. But its's not turning into a major thriller - we're heading back into 'normal' territory again, and there's true happiness on the way. Promise. _


	12. Concussion

As Gene left the house, the cold air and shock hit him and he stumbled, almost falling down the steps. _Where was the damned car? If some fucker's nicked it..._ By the time he remembered he'd parked round the corner, Gene's legs were trembling, his stomach roiling from the after-effects of alcohol and adrenalin; he threw up violently into the gutter, heaving until he was spitting up acid.

His hands were shaking so much he had trouble unlocking the car, and he collapsed into the driver's seat, pulled the door shut, and blacked out.

It was still dark when he came to – the dashboard clock read 6.32am. _What the hell day is it?_ He couldn't think. _Think. Think._ His brain was mush. Everything in pieces. _Hurt so much._ What day was it? Took him a minute to remember. _Monday_. He was supposed to be at work in two hours. Gene groaned, and sat up, hissing as the wound on his shoulder blazed into life. He reached forward to start the car, but two things stopped him: he couldn't see straight, and his right arm had seized up.

He shook his head to clear the double vision, but that was a huge mistake, as his head almost fell off his shoulders. They'd knocked him cold at least twice; Gene put a hand to the back of his head, and felt his hair in a matted lump. God, he was a mess. _Try again. Got to get home._

This time he turned the ignition key. Gear stick and handbrake under his left hand – fine. _Can't see. Can't judge distance. Can't risk it – risk other people. Fuckfuckfuck..._

He leaned his head against the steering wheel, weak, nauseous, dizzy, hurting. _Call Alex... shit, no, not there. Bastards. Need her._

Gene got on the radio and called in. 'Find Carol Watkins for me, love.'

'Off duty, sir,' said the plonk manning the phones.

'Give me her home number. It's urgent.'

'Can't, Mr Hunt. Rules...'

'Fuck the rules.'

'DCI Hunt...'

'OK, OK – Viv, then.'

Viv was all for sending a squad car and an ambulance to find Gene, but in the end agreed to phone Carol at home.

From Clissold Park to Liverpool Road didn't take her long. She opened the driver's door and peered in at Gene, who looked like the undead in the half light. 'Rough night, Gene?'

'Not at all. Just felt like some company for the sunrise, Carol.'

She put a hand under his right arm to help him out of the car; Gene hissed with the pain of it. 'Don't. Hurts.'

'So I see. What the hell's happened to you?'

'Mugged.'

'You?'

'Twenty-three of 'em. Big bastards.'

'You'll tell me later. Get out yourself, then.'

'Oh, the tenderness.'

'Casualty nurses can give you TLC. Come on, out.'

'Not going to hospital. Home. Just need tea and a smoke. Kip. OK, really.'

'And I'm Bertie Wooster's Aunt Agatha. Do as you're told, Gene.'

'Yes, mum. But home. Not hospital. Please, Carol.'

Gene, pleading? Sergeant Watkins sighed. 'Anything for a quiet life. If you die, don't come whingeing to me.'

Twenty minutes later Carol hauled Gene out of her car and through his front door; in the kitchen's overhead light he looked a basket case. The black blood matting his hair showed off his green-tinged pallor quite effectively; the rust of congealed blood on his suit jacket clashed with the fresh gore seeping through his sleeve. Almost modern art.

Carol cleaned up the worst of the headwound with warm salty water, finding a cut about an inch long, badly bruised. Carol probed a bit, and was more worried that Gene didn't whinge than if he had done.

But getting his jacket and shirt off, so Carol could look at his shoulder, was a far nastier process, with blood-soaked fabric stuck to skin. it took a lot of warm water to free the mess, and Gene worked through an impressive dictionary of curses in the process.

When the wound was finally clean, Carol was revolted by what she saw. 'Oh, my god. Who did this, Gene? What are you mixed up in?'

'What are you talking about?'

'They've cut a swastika into your skin.'

'A... what?' Gene craned his neck to look at the marks. 'Christ...'

Gingerly he touched the oozing wounds, wincing. He hadn't expected this. _What a fucking nightmare._

'I need a drink. Scotch – look, on the table.'

'Don't be idiotic.'

'Painkillers, then. Second drawer down,' said Gene.

'Not yet.'

'For Christ's sake, Carol. Everything bloody hurts. You enjoying this?'

'Yes. Have you thrown up?'

'Now and then.'

'This morning, you nerk.'

'Can't remember.'

'Amnesia, or lying? Either way, you've got concussion. This headwound needs stitching, and the cuts on your arm need... something. More than I sort out. 'I'm taking you to Casualty.'

'Next door. Dr Penfold.'

'What?'

'Neighbour's a quack. Number 23. She'll do it.'

'OK. I'll go.' Carol put a hand on his uninjured shoulder and looked into his eyes, looking at his pupils. All she knew about head injuries was that if the pupils were different sizes, it meant trouble. Gene's were OK as far as she could see, but she didn't want to take chances.

'Gene – please promise me that you won't swallow either booze or pills when I go. I know it must hurt like fuck, but if you've got a head injury it could make things worse. I really don't have the time to visit you in hospital, let alone come to your bloody funeral.'

Gene gave her a lop-sided smile. 'Oh, Carol – how you do reassure one. If you're quick with the quack I'll promise not to swallow anything before you get back. Now toddle off, there's a good sergeant.'

She kissed the top of his head, a comforting hand on his shoulder, and left him. Four minutes later she was back with Alice Penfold, a no-nonsense GP with grown-up sons and a cartoonist husband. She knew how to deal with recalcitrant men, and even Gene knew when he was outgunned.

'Mr Hunt. In the wars, eh?' Dr Penfold plonked her bag on the kitchen table and fished out some bits and pieces. She examined Gene thoroughly, noting the red weals on his chest, and evidence of sexual activity, without comment. She stood back and looked at him, her face expressionless. 'OK, Mr Hunt. This was no mugging. Before I treat you, I need to know exactly what happened to you.'

Gene glanced across at Carol; seeing the look in his eyes, the kind, canny sergeant nodded, and left the room. If he couldn't tell her, it had to be bad. And where was Alex?

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Dr Penfold left Gene with a scrip for painkillers and instructions which she knew he'd ignore, so she repeated them to Carol in the hope that Sgt Watkins could bully the big DCI into sensible behaviour.

'He was drinking last night, apparently, before he was, er, attacked. The combination of booze, a lot of adrenalin, and the concussion must be nasty. Hangover plus plus. I made him drink some water; if you can get him to sleep now, and get him to eat some lunch, that will help. But no whisky.

'Alcohol with pills is bad news, so if he can be dissuaded from drinking for the next few days, that would help. The dressing on his arm needs changing every day, and the stitches in his head can come out in a week or so. The effects of concussion can last for days or weeks – he needs checking regularly for the next couple of days; he can go back to work next week if he feels OK, although he should take a couple of weeks, if he had any sense.'

Gene wandered out of the kitchen, shirt hanging off one shoulder, a big dressing on his right shoulder, looking as though he'd been on a three-day bender.

'What is it with women – can't pass up a chance to gossip,' he muttered, heading for the stairs, climbing them like an old man. He tripped a few steps from the top and clutched the stair rail, swaying dangerously. Carol was up with him in a heartbeat, to Gene's disgust.

'Fuck's sake, Carol, felt a bit dizzy, that's all. I'm fine. Don't fuss.'

Carol looked down at the doctor and shrugged. 'Thanks, Dr Penfold.'

'Good luck...'

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Once Gene had gone to bed, Carol took his house keys and nipped out for a bit of easy food to keep him going for a couple of days, and for his painkillers. When she came back she checked on him and found him spark out. It was still only just past ten, but he'd normally have been at work by now. She phoned CID to let them know he wouldn't be in.

'Ray? Carol Watkins. Is DI Drake there?'

'No, love. She's swanned off with Special Branch for a few days.'

'What on earth for?'

'Who cares? Gets her off my back for a bit.'

'Right. Well, your Guv'nor won't be in for a bit, either. He's had a bash on the head and got a bit of concussion, so the doc's signed him off for this week.'

'What happened? And how do you know, anyway?'

'He hasn't been able to tell us much yet. Concussion – I told you.'

'You at his house?'

'Yes. He rang me.'

'Why the hell didn't he ring me?'

'Where you at home at six this morning?'

'Er, actually, no.'

'There you go, then. Will you let the Super know, or will I?'

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Gene woke just before noon, and stumbled downstairs to find Carol emptying a tin of soup into a pan, having heard his fairy footsteps crashing around upstairs. 'What have you done with my Scotch?' he demanded.

'It's off limits, and off the premises for the time being.'

Gene started squawking at her, but Carol ignored him, shaking two pills out of a bottle and handing them to him with a glass of water. Gene took them and swigged them back, drinking the glassful and two more to quench a sudden raging thirst. Still without a word, Carol poured hot soup into a bowl and put it on the table, pulling out a chair and gesturing to Gene to sit down. He glared at her for a long moment, then sat down.

But when he picked up the spoon and tried to eat, his hand shook so much he dropped the spoon, splashing soup everywhere. He cursed, and dropped his head into his hands, hating this physical malaise. _I'll kill him..._ But Gene couldn't remember his name. _Miranda's pimp. Fucking deviant._

He sat up when he felt Carol's hand on his shoulder.

'Concussion, Gene, and a sore arm. That's all. You'll be fine in a few days. As long as you look after yourself properly. Here...'

She took the bowl away, poured the soup into a mug and gave it back to him.

When he'd eaten, Gene had a bath, obeying instructions to keep his shoulder out of the water. Carol waited till he re-emerged, gave him five minutes, and knocked on his bedroom door. She poked her head round the door, and saw him sitting on the bed in his bathrobe.

'Got to get back – got to take Scott to the dentist.'

'What day is it today? I've lost track of time.'

'Monday. It's about one fifteen. Now listen, Gene.'

'Nag, nag, nag. Don't remember our wedding day.'

'I spoke to Ray and told him you'd been signed off for the rest of the week.'

'You did what?' Gene blazed. 'Bollocks to that. I'm going in.'

'Don't be stupid – you can't see straight, walk straight or think straight.'

'Don't call me stupid, sergeant.'

Carol put her head back and crossed her arms. She was stone faced. 'If you behave like a fool, Detective Chief Inspector, I'll bloody well say so. Don't you dare pull rank on me, Gene Hunt.'

'Oh, leave me alone.'

'I'm going. And the next time you need some patsy to dig you out of the shit in the middle of the night, call another of your legion of friends.'

She left him and went downstairs, fuming, going to get her stuff from the kitchen. As she reached the front door, a quiet voice stopped her.

'Carol.' Gene was sitting at the top of the stairs. 'I'm sorry.'

She looked up at him for a moment, then walked up the stairs till she was his eye level. 'Me too.'

'Thank you.'

'Any time.'

'You're a good friend.'

'You'd do the same for me.'

'Can't see you being stupid enough to get into such shit. But if you do, I'm your man. Expert.'

He gave her the lop-sided smile, the image of a Lost Boy. Carol gave him a quick hug, and left.

Two minutes later, Gene was on the phone. 'Ray? come and pick me up. Yes, I'm fine. Get your arse up here. You can bring me up to speed in the car.'

TBC


	13. Spark out

'Bloody hell, Guv – you look like a bag of shite.'

'Cheers, Ray.'

'But are you sure you should come in?'

'Yes. Now shut up and get in the car.'

Ray complied, aware that the Guv was in no mood for argument.

Gene watched Ray's driving with a curled lip. 'Have you heard from DI Drake?'

'Not a word. Been lovely and quiet.'

There was a chilly silence in the car.

'Have you done any work today?' Gene's voice had iced over.

'Yes, Guv. The Paki swot looks more and more like a dead cert...'

'Do you never listen to advice, Carling? He's an arsehole, but he's a Bengali arsehole. Dev's a Hindu name. Not from Pakistan. Understood?'

'Whatever you say, Guv.' _Sounds like Lord Shitty Scarman. He's right under that bloody DI's thumb._ 'There was another one who kept his kid off school – bloke called Sharma. Brought him in this morning. Him and Dev are bezzy mates, and he's a motorbike. And his wife's English. Very posh. Her family lives in Flood Street. Just round the corner from Cheyne Walk... where the orange MGB was nicked?'

He looked over at Gene. 'Guv?'

Gene's eyes were shut, his head tipped back against the headrest. Spark out.

Ray drove them the rest of the way in silence.

Gene woke as Ray pulled up outside Fenchurch East. He looked dazed for a moment, but hauled himself out of the car and strode into the station in good leonine style.

Tea and Garibaldis brought a bit of normality, although Drake's absence was an almost physical ache, knowing she was out of the city, working for someone else, out of his world.

Gene descended on the interview room to take a look at Harish Sharma, then organised search warrants for Sharma's and Dev's houses. By five o'clock the posse was back, with a bundle of evidence bags.

'Political mag, Guv. Spearhead – very right wing stuff. And here, look – Hitler's book. Thought he didn't like wogs. Er, non-whites, Guv.'

Gene sniffed, but said nothing.

'Two crash helmets at Sharma's house, and a set of leathers. Found these overalls at Dev's place. Cleaning rags from Sharma's house – might be what they used as a wick.'

'What the hell's this?' Gene picked up a ceremonial sword with a two-foot blade and an ornate silver hilt. 'Dunno. It was hanging over a shrine, almost like a cross. But the shrine had elephants and that blokey with a lot of arms and all sorts, so it wasn't Church of England, if you know what I mean.'

'Good. Get the overall, leathers and rags to forensics.'

xxxxxxxxxxx

Ray poked his head round Gene's door. 'Coming to the pub, Guv?'

'Er, yeah.'

Gene pulled a bottle out of his pocket and shook out three tablets, chugging them back with a swig of cold tea. His head was killing him, he had gut rot and nothing felt right. Couldn't concentrate on anything.

'Right. Last one there gets free drinks all night. And in case you're wondering, that's me. Go on, bugger off.'

Ray frowned at him, but didn't argue. He shooed the rest of the team out of the door, leaving Gene alone.

He wanted Alex. He missed her bolshie arguments today, the fighter's chin daring him to hit back, provoking, bloody insubordinate nonsense. _Smart-arse bloody woman._ Drove him up the wall. Loved the fights. Made him feel alive. Drove his demons away.

_Yesterday morning..._ only yesterday morning, she fit into his arms like she'd been made for him. For once, he'd got something right, giving her the book. And she'd finally come to him, come to his arms... warm, soft, unguarded... And when she looked up at him... those eyes, deep enough to drown in... He couldn't stop himself from kissing her. _And she kissed me back_. All the women he'd kissed in his life, and none of them made him feel like he'd swallowed a sunset. Not till yesterday.

Then that little pillock walked in on them. _I could have killed him._

Gene smiled, remembering Alex coming after him like the white tornado. _She was right – I didn't think. Saw red, had to get out. Hurt so much._ Couldn't believe how bad he could feel, seconds after feeling so fucking wonderful. _Thank god she didn't let me go._ But she was taken away from him anyway. Gene's fingers curled as he remembered Alex's hand in his, their secret conversation. _We had a breakthrough this morning._ His promise to her. _I trust you... I'll hold you…_

To be loved by Alex Drake... what would it take? What would it cost him? What price wouldn't he pay?

If she'd been here last night, he wouldn't have been at Luigi's, easy prey for the Carterets. He'd have been with Alex, loving her, buried sweetly inside her, his hands tangled in her hair, hearing her cry his name. _I'd crawl over broken glass for that, to be allowed to love her._

But – Miranda... the furious, bitter, violent man she discovered. A man to hate, to fear. What if Alex ever saw that Gene Hunt?

Gene pushed back his chair and got to his feet. _Fuck this. Can't handle it. Bloody women – who needs 'em? Except for a shag and a clean shirt. Romantic bollocks was all right for the likes of nancy boy Sam Tyler, all wet and precious over a pair of tits, the soft get. And look where it got him._

Just the thought of a beer made him feel better. When he got to Luigi's half the team had buggered off already, but Lucas and Ray were chatting up a pair of slappers in one corner; Pyramus and Thisbe were giggling a couple of tables further over. Gene hitched his arse on to a bar stool. 'Oi, Luigi. Beerio here-io, quick as you like.'

Ray and Lucas turned round at the familiar snarl, and Ray wandered over. 'All right, Guv?'

'Yes, Raymondo. Or it will be, when I've a pint down my neck.'

Luigi slid a frothing glass on to the bar, but held on to it. 'Are you well, Mr Hunt? Mr Carling says you are not well, that you have met with an injury to your head.'

'True, my little friend, true. I have indeed been banged on the bonce, but as you can see, I have a thick skull and an iron constitution, so release that beer into my custody, if you please.'

'Should you be drinking with painkillers, guv?' Ray was looking worried.

'Beer's not drinking. It's ninety-five per cent water, which if you ask me is pretty much a health cure. Cheers.'

Gene downed the pint in about eleven seconds and slammed the glass on the bar with satisfaction.

'Luigi – my glass is empty. Raymondo, your bird is looking restive. If I were you, gentleman, I'd attend to your work instanto.' He waved Ray back to his evening's activity, and gave Luigi an encouraging glare.

It took about half an hour. Gene sank a second pint and a whisky chaser, and was now leaning on his elbows, staring vacantly into the middle distance. Chris wandered across to order food for him and Shaz, and stood next to Gene. 'All right, Guv?'

There was no response. 'Guv? You OK?'

Gene turned his head slowly in Chris's direction, but his eyes were unfocused, and his face slack.

Chris called Ray over. 'He's rat-arsed, Ray – look at him.'

'How much has he had?'

'Dunno. Luigi?'

'For Mr Hunt, nothing. Two pints of beer and a whisky.'

Gene frowned, and pointed a finger at Ray. 'Goinfra piss...' But his attempt to stand up failed, and he collapsed as though his bones had melted, taking Ray with him to the floor. Lucas and Shaz rushed across when they heard the crash. Gene was paralytic; Ray and Lucas got him sitting up with his back to the bar, legs sprawled, head hanging.

'Christ. I knew he shouldn't have had a drink. We'll have to take him upstairs to the flat. He can't go home, and he's got to go somewhere.'

Shaz wasn't so sure. 'You can't just put him in DI Drake's flat...'

'She's not there. She won't be back for another couple of days, so she won't even know.'

'But...'

'You going to take him back to your place, then, Shazzer?' Ray was scathing.

'Well, no, but...'

'Luigi, give me the spare key.'

Between the four of them, they manhandled Gene up to the second floor, let themselves into Alex's flat, and dragged Gene in.

'We'll have to take him to the bog first. He'll piss himself, else, then Drake will know all about it.'

That chore achieved by Ray and Lucas, they got Gene into bed and undressed, and he lay in Alex's red sheets like an unwanted Christmas present.

'Do you think he'll be all right? You don't think we ought to call a doctor?' Shaz was scared of leaving the Guv on his own in this state.

'He been drunk often enough before. He'll give us all hell tomorrow but he'll be OK.'

'But he's not just pissed, Ray,' said Lucas. 'He's got concussion and he's been taking pills. And I bet they're stronger than aspirin.'

'Call the doc, Ray, please.'

'I agree with Shaz,' said Chris

Ray looked at his three amigos. 'There's no need. He'll be fine. I'm off.'

Lucas shrugged, and followed Ray out of the front door.

'You going too, Chris?' Shaz was unimpressed.

'Well...'

'Sod off, then. You blokes are bloody useless unless there's guns to wave around. I'm staying. Someone's got to make sure he doesn't die – or aren't you bothered, Christopher?'

Chris shifted uneasily. 'Course I am, Shaz. I just don't know what's best.'

'Go to the desk and get hold of the duty doctor, and bring him up here. I'll stay with the Guv.'

Chris didn't need telling twice, and legged it downstairs and across the street.

Shaz pulled and pushed the Guv into the recovery position, covered him with the duvet, and sat on the edge of the bed, watching him. After a couple of minutes, she reached out and brushed his hair back off his forehead, letting her hand rest on his head for a moment. 'Gene,' she murmured, relishing the thrill of having the Manc Lion all to herself, all vulnerable and lovely.

She jumped when Gene moved, eyes fluttering open for a moment. 'Alex... he muttered.

'It's all right, Guv. Doc's coming to sort you out.'

Dr Stock materialised three minutes later, with Chris at his heels. He fished the bottle of analgesic from Gene's discarded jacket, then examined him quickly and thoroughly: looking, listening, palpating, sniffing. 'Has he woken up at all?' he asked Shaz.

'Not really. His eyes opened for a minute and he said something but I couldn't hear what.'

'OK. He'll live. Bloody stupid to drink with codeine, but he's a great ox and apparently quite hard to kill. Are you staying with him here tonight?'

Chris looked at Shaz. 'Yes, OK.'

'One of you should sleep in here with him in case he stops breathing.'

'Christ... is that likely?' Chris was horrified.

'No. But the effects of alcohol and codeine are unpredictable, and he has concussion as well. I leave you to sort it out. Goodnight.'

'Thanks, doc,' Shaz called after him. 'OK, darling, you get the sofa. I'll babysit.'

'Er, hang on – you're going to sleep in here with the Guv?'

'You wouldn't hear a bomb going off once you're asleep, so there's no much point in you kipping in here.' Shaz relented a little. 'Don't panic. I'll be on top of the duvet, with a blanket. All perfectly pure. Mary Whitehouse would approve.'

'But it's not nine o'clock yet – we can't go to bed now. And I'm starving.'

'Well, go and get some food from downstairs, then. We can eat in here, as long as we keep our voices down. The Guv's out for the count.'

By midnight Chris was stretched out on the sofa under one blanket, and Shaz was curled up under the other, lying on top of the duvet fully dressed, as far away as possible from Gene who was lying on his back, snoring gently.

At six minutes to three, the front door opened, and Alex let herself in. Flicking the light switch, she got a shock – there was a body on her sofa.

TBC


	14. Secrets and truths

On Monday morning Alex was down for breakfast at seven thirty, but four of the others were already there, hobnobbing over the bangers. One of them looked up and saw her. 'Morning – Alex, is it? Come and join us. We're taking bets on the last one down. Laziest bugger buys a round at lunchtime.'

Alex laughed, pleased to be included. She opted for a proper cooked breakfast – the last time she'd eaten one was about 25 years in the future, so she reckoned she was due a treat. Just as she was served, the sixth arrived, and they were bitching about DCI Clark when the seventh and final team member pitched up. Roger Wimbledon, proclaimed with guffaws and expletives as The Laziest Bugger, confessed to being known as Womble, and had just enough time for a cup of stewed coffee and half a piece of toast before they were summoned to start work.

Womble turned out to be the explosives man from Belfast, and the bloke who first greeted Alex was the fundamentalist expert, Jim Jaspan, a DI in the Greater Manchester Police. Twenty eight, a Cambridge graduate, he was a cocky devil, but attractive and likable.

Alex sat between the two of them as they settled round the conference table. Graham Clark arrived and introduced them to each other and to the task in hand, which was to sift through the available evidence on the letter bombs, and yesterday's warning – another note along the lines of the first, talking about light and dark. But this one mentioned dancing with the sword of the sun.

Useful hard evidence from the letterbombs was scant – the focus was on the wording of the message, which pointed to occult or religious context, and the men behind the deliveries.

'All the children said much the same – they were asked by a man to take an envelope to a certain building within sight, and were given a quid as a reward,' said Clark.

'The men they described were all priests. Black-robed men, all with beards, most with glasses, some with headgear. Two Catholic, one Greek Orthodox, a rabbi and one unidentified black-garbed priest. Not only effective disguises, but kindly moral figures that a child wouldn't hesitate to help.

By the time they'd sifted through the facts, it was time for lunch. Jim Jaspan came to sit with Alex; she suspected he regarded himself as Alpha Male in this company, and as such should monopolise the only female. Lucky her.

'You're in Manchester, eh, Jim? Brutal Street?'

Bootle Street was the city centre's divisional HQ, known generally as Brutal Street for reasons which never needed explaining.

'No – GMP HQ at Chester House. Do you know Manchester, then?'

'Not really, but I had a colleague who was transferred there a few years ago. Sam Tyler. He told me a lot about the place when he was first there.'

'Tyler... oh, yeah. Sam Tyler. He was killed, wasn't he?'

'Mmm.' She waited, taking a mouthful of salmon to give him the chance to gossip. He couldn't resist.

'He worked for Gene Hunt. He's gone too – but transferred, not dead. Lost it when Tyler died, then there was some gossip about his divorce. Probably felt he had to get out of town. Can't say he's much missed.'

Alex made an encouraging noise, though she felt like slapping the arrogant shit. What did he know about Gene? _How dare he_?

'He was old school, was Hunt. Used his boots and his fists, and thought the law was his to bend as he saw fit. Thought he was Wyatt Earp.'

Alex smiled, thinking of Gene in his western outfit.

'Oh, he put a lot of criminals away, and the old guys still talk about him like he's a legend. But we're more sophisticated these days. The Gene Hunts of the world are obsolete. Scarman will get rid, with a bit of luck. You're part of the new generation, Alex – psychological profiling is pretty cutting edge.'

'How come you've specialised in fundamentalism? That's a bit advanced, isn't it? Where did you train?'

'Hyde.'

xxxxxxxxxx

They were trying to unravel the words of the warning when DCI Clark came through the door looking thunderous. He handed a piece of paper to each of them – a photocopied note, in a child's handwriting, with a single word:

_Syzygy_

'Any ideas?'

Clark was tapping the table, wanting answers. The team were glancing at each other.

'It's an astronomical term. It's when planets or moons line up.' Jaspan had got in first.

'It's also used in poetry, but I can't remember what it means,' said the counter-terrorism man, Peter somebody.

'And in zoology – something about sex,' said Womble.

'OK,' said Clark. 'We need a bit of clarity here. Anyone got contacts who would know? Tell you what – go and make some phone calls. Or there's a library here, beyond the dining room.'

The team scattered. Alex rang the BBC's duty office, and asked for the _Sky at Night_'s production office. In ninety seconds she had her answer.

She found Clark and told him what she'd found. 'There's a syzygy on Wednesday 10th – day after tomorrow. All the planets in the solar system will align on the same side of the sun.'

With a deadline, the team was rounded up and spent the next hour failing to come up with any new ideas. Clark reappeared, then, with two people behind him. 'Two more for you. DI Williams, and DS Haggerty. I'll leave you to it. I'll send in tea.'

Alex looked daggers at the new faces. New to the team, maybe, but to her – Menna, and Harry. Detective Sergeant Haggerty, Special Branch. Her erstwhile lover, biker, postgrad student. Alex stared at him till he caught her eye; it took him over a minute to pluck up the courage. Alex's raised eyebrow did not bode well.

Menna had, unsurprisingly, been keeping tabs on the Greenham Common women and their links with CND, but had also been watching Shaz and her friends, suspicious of a police woman with quirky friends and leftist sympathies.

Harry's studies at Imperial College were deep cover to get into a group of neo-Nazis with green credentials, he explained. 'The two names that seem to link various active groups at the minute are Julius Evola and Savitri Devi. Writers – you'll find their books in a lot of neo-Nazi shelves but they have a wider appeal, crossing over to eastern mysticism, natural conservation and anticapitalist groups, religious groups – especially extreme Christian and Hindu groups with an Aryan focus – and and most worryingly, military interests with establishment backing, here, in the US, and Europe. Has anyone heard about Operation Gladio?'

Murmurs from three or four voices.

The debate raged, then, right through supper; it was after ten when they broke for the night. Clark had been in to tell them that he'd acted on Alex's information and put the Met and City forces on red alert – if Wednesday's date was the point of the latest note, then they could be facing a serious incident.

'Sir – could I have a word?' Alex collared DCI Clark as the team headed for the bar. 'Friday's firebomb in Brick Lane is connected to this. Maybe not directly, but there are too many parallels to ignore. Can I go back to London tonight and see what I can find, sir?'

'We need you here, DI Drake. Can't you phone DCI Hunt in the morning for an update?'

'Not without telling him what's going on here, sir. He doesn't like being kept in the dark. And if Wednesday is our deadline, it might be a minute after midnight – about twenty-six hours from now.'

'Be back here by lunchtime tomorrow, Alex.'

She nodded, and ran for the stairs. Straight into Harry, who'd been waiting for her. 'Alex...'

'Not now, Harry.'

She ran upstairs and round to her room, grabbed her bag and shot back out, only to crash into Harry at the door.

'Alex – we have to talk.' He barred her way.

'I said, not now. I've got to go.' She tried to push past him, but Harry grabbed her arms and pushed her back into her room, kicking the door shut behind him.

'Get off me!' Alex fought him off, and they stood facing each other like gunfighters.

'I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I couldn't. You must see that.' Harry sounded anything but apologetic.

'Doesn't matter. No longer relevant. Now leave, please.'

'Of course it matters. I love you.'

'Funny way of showing it. Please go.'

'I love you, Alex. I'm not letting you go.'

'You don't have a choice. I dumped you, remember? Now, I've got work to do, so if you don't mind...' She moved for the door.

Harry grabbed her, held her tight, tried to kiss her. Alex fought like a wildcat, spitting and writhing till she was free of him.

She stood battle ready, head low, fists clenched by her sides. 'You utter shit. Your penis is actually perfectly average, but you behave like a man with a pencil prick – and that's _really_ sad.'

Harry lashed out, sent her flying, falling on to the bed. Harry flung himself on top of her, trying to pin her down, but Alex was too quick for him and was on her feet and halfway to the door.

'Running to big daddy Hunt, huh? Going to set him and his gorillas on me, are you? Poor ickle Alex. Can't cope with a man who knows what he wants, can you?'

Alex spun on her heel. 'I fight my own battles, you fuckwit. Stand up.'

Harry lay on the bed, propped on one elbow, laughing at her. 'And what? Going to slap my face?' He got to his feet, laughing. 'Go on then, darling. Do your worst. Then we can kiss and make up.'

He was still laughing when Alex landed the jab, but not when she followed it up with a right cross that floored him.

'Kiss your arse goodbye, Harry. Don't let's stay in touch.'

xxxxxxxxxxx

By the time Alex got home, her face was throbbing where Harry had hit her; she'd have a black eye by morning. What a charmer. Gene's instincts were right, she realised. _Damn him._ She smiled, remembering the tenderness of his hands on her face as he kissed her.

She parked the borrowed car outside Luigi's, and trudged upstairs, letting herself in and flicking on the lights. She turned – and nearly jumped out of her skin as she saw a body on her sofa. It didn't wake, but groaned and wriggled a bit, so it was clearly not dead; Alex peered at it, and turned into a Skelton, kipping very soundly under her blue blanket.

Alex crept into her bedroom, to see Gene lying on his stomach, one long naked leg poking out from the duvet, his head turned towards her, snoring gently. And cuddled into him, her hand on his back, was WPC Sharon Granger.

The blade of jealousy that ripped through Alex was barbed, tearing through her insides for a split second until her mind regained control. Shaz was fully clothed, on top of the duvet, and Chris was next door. Not a betrayal, then. But bizarre. Alex put a hand on Shaz's arm and shook her gently awake.

Shaz woke with a gasp, and looked up to find Alex standing over the bed, a big question mark all over her face.

'Ma'am! Oh, god, is that you?'

'Not god, no. But if you don't tell me what's going on, I might be the very devil.'

The young WPC slithered off the bed and scuttled out of the bedroom, beckoning Alex into the kitchen. She put the light on and closed the door, then took a deep breath before turning to face Alex.

'Ma'am... we didn't expect you back...'

'Really?'

'The Guv... Ray... We didn't know... The doctor told us...'

'Stop, Shaz. Just stop. I'm going to make us a cuppa, so you go and freshen up while the kettle boils.'

By the time Shaz came back, Alex had made them tea.

'Alex – your poor face – what happened?' Shaz had woken up.

Alex waved away her concern. 'A little local difficulty. You should see the other fella.' She laughed, albeit rather unconvincingly.

'But it looks really sore... Who did that to you?.'

'A nobody. He's not worth wasting breath on.'

'And your hand – did you hit him back?'

'Yes. And much as I deplore violence, I have to say it was extremely satisfying.'

Shaz giggled. Her estimation of her boss, high as it was, took another skyward leap. 'Wow...'

'So, Shaz... Tell me.'

Shaz recounted the events of the previous twelve hours concisely and clearly, glossing over Ray and Lucas's defection. 'The Guv asked for you, Ma'am – it's the only thing he said since he passed out.' She smiled at her boss with a touch of her usual mischief.

'OK, Shaz, thanks. You and Chris have been fantastic, which is more than I can say for the others. God, men are hopeless.'

'Sergeant Carling said he'd seen the Guv worse than this and that we were making a fuss, Ma'am.'

'Sergeant Carling is a man with a perm, Shaz.'

She fished a tenner out of her bag and handed it to her young friend. 'Here – phone for a cab and get yourself and Chris home. The Guv should be very grateful to you, but I must ask you not to say a word about tonight – not to anyone. the Guv's going to feel atrocious when he wakes up. Ray and Lucas don't know you stayed, do they? and the Guv won't remember. And I wasn't here at all – don't even tell Chris you've seen me, OK? Ill be gone before the Guv wakes up – I've got work to do, and I must go back to Branch in the morning. This is our secret, Shaz. Don't let me down.'

'I won't, Ma'm, I promise.'

Alex stayed in the kitchen till Shaz dragged a half-conscious Chris out to the waiting cab; then after a quick check to see that Gene was still sleeping, she went to have a shower: she wanted to wash Haggerty off her for good. Properly clean, she went to the bedroom for fresh clothes. Wrapped in a towel, she sat on the edge of the bed watching her boss, her friend, and the only man she wanted, sleeping the sleep of the very lucky. Alex put a gentle hand to his head, where dried blood stuck to the three stitches and matted his hair. She put her fingers to his shoulder, a feather's touch on smooth skin.

'_Gene...'_ she whispered, bending to kiss his head, stroking his hair, leaning her cheek against his. _'You poor love. What happened to you?'_

Gene didn't stir. Alex could have wept; finally, he was in her bed, but he didn't even know it. Without thinking, she lifted the duvet and slid underneath it, moving carefully so she didn't disturb him, slotting herself in beside him, her hand to his face, stroking his cheek rough with stubble, then putting an arm round him to snuggle into his chest. She kissed the hollow at the base of his throat... _Stop it. Now's not the time..._ With a huge effort, Alex shoved the lust back in its box and focused on Gene's injuries, trying to want to mother him. But the scent of him, the feel of his solid body against hers, the rasp of stubble around the soft lips... it wasn't anything remotely maternal that she felt.

She slid away from him, out of bed. _Can't stand it. Want him so much._ She went to have another shower.

Clean and purged, she got dressed without looking at Gene wrapped in her sheets. But she couldn't leave him without a touch. He'd shifted, now on his back, one arm flung wide, the other hanging over the edge. Alex sat on the edge of the bed, took his hand in hers and kissed it, turning it over and kissing his palm. She held his palm to her cheek, cupped his jaw in her other hand. 'I think I love you, Gene,' she murmured. 'Sweet dreams, you amazing man...'

xxxxxxxxxxxx

It was five o'clock by the time she got over to the station; Carol Watkins was on the desk. 'Alex! You're early. Blimey – that eye looks painful. You run into some trouble?'

'Nothing lasting. Bruises fade. This is a flying visit. Do you know if anything's moved on the school firebombing since Sunday?'

'Yes. There are two blokes in the cells – they'll be charged this morning and off to the Magistrates' Court later today. Looks like a done deal.' But...'

'Who are they?'

Carol leafed through the custody record. 'I wasn't on duty yesterday, so I don't know anything more. They are... er… Govinder Dev and Harish Sharma.'

'Hindu names. I knew it. Is there any physical evidence?'

'Er... yes. Says here several items. Some gone to forensics, some in the evidence room.'

'Brilliant. Thanks, Carol.'

'Hang on, Alex. I need to talk to you. Have you seen Gene since Sunday?'

'Um...' Alex hesitated. 'Why?'

'Did you know he was attacked?'

'Yes, I'd heard, but not much. Do you know what happened?'

'No, not really. But he called me.. about this time yesterday, as it happens. I found him in his car up in Liverpool Road. He was in a right state. Concussed and hungover – and someone had slashed him with a blade.' Carol didn't think Gene would forgive her if she told Alex what had been carved into Gene's flesh.

'I took him home, got the doctor to patch him up, and left him to sleep. Or so I thought. But that stupid bastard Ray Carling went and got him and Gene was apparently in here yesterday afternoon wandering around like a zombie. The man doesn't know when to quit.'

'Didn't he tell you what happened?'

'No. He said he'd been mugged, but he wasn't. I think it was something nasty and personal. He was shocked and depressed, which was partly the concussion, but there's more to it. Maybe he'll tell you.'

'Why me?'

Carol gave Alex a look. 'For the life of me, I can't think...' she said with heavy sarcasm.

Alex felt herself blush.

'Just sort yourselves out, why don't you. You must know how he feels about you.'

Alex smiled shyly. 'Has he said anything to you?'

'No. Gene Hunt's a private man. Armour a foot thick. But you seem to have the key. Just don't hurt him, Alex. He's a good man. Not many like him.'

'You're good friends.'

'I've known him for a long time. And yes, we had a moment, but we were a lot younger and had no patience. Ancient history now. I've had two husbands since...'

The early morning peace was smashed by two women shouting the odds and demanding attention. Alex left Carol to sort them out, and headed for the office.

xxxxxxxxx

By eight o'clock Alex had waded through the file on Brick Lane Primary, read the statements of Sharma and Dev and the notes on their arrests and interviews, house searches and evidence found. She scribbled down the exhibit numbers and headed for the evidence room to look at the items Ray and co had found.

She was looking at the sword from Sharma's house when the door opened.

'Alex? You there?'

'Gene?'

She came out from behind the Dexion shelves and was enveloped in black wool, Gene's arms tight around her, crushing her to his chest, his face in her hair.

'Alex...'

She hugged him tight, kissing his neck, the only bit of him she could reach, caught in his arms, hardly able to breathe. 'Hey...'

He let her go, but held her shoulders, looking at her as though he couldn't quite believe she was true. 'Carol said you were here...' He frowned, and touched her face with a gentle hand. 'What's this? Who did this?'

'Walked into a door.' Alex chuckled, but Gene looked thunderous.

'That's not even vaguely funny. Who did this?' The laser eyes were on full. 'You were supposed to be at a safe house surrounded by coppers. Tell me Alex. Please...'

Alex sighed. 'It's all over – I don't want you to go mad.'

'Tell me.' The voice was cold rage, but the hand was tenderness.

'I bumped into Harry.'

'Biker boy? Where?'

'He's Special Branch. Turned up yesterday afternoon.'

'Did you know?'

'No. We had a bit of a row as I was leaving.'

'He hit you.'

'I hit him back. Twice. Harder.' Alex grinned at him. 'Felt good, too.' She put her fingers to Gene's lips. 'Do you kiss brawlers?'

'Only on Tuesdays.' Gene kissed her bruised eye before touching his lips to hers, sipping her mouth, tasting her like a connoisseur, one hand cradling her head, the other sliding up her body to cup her breast, his thumb stroking her, setting her alight. Alex moaned into his mouth, her hands at his waist, scrabbling at his shirt, pulling it from his belt so she could feel his skin...

'Guv?'

A discreet little tap at the door, and the pair of them were a yard apart, looking guilty as hell, when Shaz's head appeared. She tried, and failed, to look as though she didn't know what they'd been doing.

'Guv – DCI Clark's on the phone. Red alert, needs to talk to you now. You too, Ma'am.'

TBC


	15. Cryptic clues

_Many thanks to Molly Hunt and Grainweevil for help with this one. _

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Gene took the call. 'Clark? What's going on?'

'We've a specific warning. Car bomb, probably set for Wednesday. Something to do with the Bank of England. But there's a lot more in the clue that we haven't got yet.'

'So it's a job for the City force. Want our lot as back-up?'

'Not at this stage, but you're only just over the City boundary so we want you on red alert. But we do need DI Drake back. Hand me over to her, would you?'

Gene passed the phone to Alex and went to call Superintendent Dorney.

'Alex – we're coming back in. Can you meet us at Bishopsgate in an hour? It's the nearest station to the Bank of England.'

'Is that the target, sir?'

'We think so. But this cryptic warning has more to tell us. I'll see you there.'

xxxxxxxxxxx

"_In a deflagration, will see a fair lady hit by Vajra in a coup de foudre on a Z car. 5780K. 'Don't watch dis!' It's madness. The pennyroyal will be scorched and the Old Lady will go hungry."_

The Times crossword it wasn't. The Essex team were huddled round a table in Bishopsgate's biggest interview room, trying to tease out the clues. DCI Clark had a marker pen in his hand, scribbling on a big flipchart.

Womble had already seized on the key words. 'There are two basic types of chemical reaction that cause an explosion: detonation, and deflagration. The next two words are an anagram of car bomb, although why there's a full stop between them, we don't know.'

'Barb dot com,' muttered Jim Jaspan. 'It's a domain name.'

Alex felt as though she'd been winded. 'How do you know that, Jim? The web's not even close to market.'

Jaspan looked at her, frowning. 'For that matter, Alex, you're pretty well informed.'

'Er... I read.'

'Hmm. You ever been to Hyde, Alex?'

Before she could answer, Clark cut across them. 'Has this anything to do with anything?'

'Probably not, sir. Jim and I can give it some thought later.' Alex's mind was racing – what the hell did this mean? Was Jaspan like her, from her time? She could sense him staring at her, read his thoughts.

Clark continued. 'Right. The Z car is probably a Ford Zephyr – they were used as patrol cars in the 1960s up in the North West, as you will remember from the days of proper telly. Fair Lady - what's that got to do with it?'

'Eliza Doolittle. Pygmalion. Henry Higgins.'

'Musical. Lerner and Lowe.'

'Audrey Hepburn. Rex Harrison. '

'The rain in spain, I could have danced all night.

'On the street where you live...'

They bounced ideas around, but came up with nothing that sounded right.

'OK,' said Clark. 'What about this number? 5780K. Car registration? Not a UK plate.'

'Jersey plates have a J and a string of numbers, but I don't about a string of numbers followed by a K,' said David Conn, one of the Belfast officers.

'K could stand for one thousand, like kilo-something. It also stands for Kelvin, but if that's a temperature, it's a bloody high one,' said Womble. 'Like a supernova, or the sun, or something very big and very hot.'

'A supernova's a big explosion, isn't it?' said Jaspan.

'Christ – are we looking at another Oktoberfest or Bologna?' Clark went white at the thought of dozens dead and hundreds injured.

'That was neoNazis, though, wasn't it?' David Conn again. 'There's nothing here that links to that lot.

'A _coup de foudre_ is a thunderbolt, which could be a Blitzkrieg... but it also means love at first sight,' said Alex. 'Something to do with the fair lady?'

'The Old Lady must be the Bank of England. Maybe the pennyroyal is another bank... Royal Bank of Scotland?' Peter Verwey chipped in for the first time.

'What about this madness thing?' said Clark.

'Don't watch dat... watch dis!' Womble intoned, earning him some funny looks.

'It's _One Step Beyond_.' More blank looks. 'Madness.' said Womble, frustrated by their ignorance.

'Hey you... Don't watch dat, watch dis! Dis is the heavy heavy monster sound, the nuttiest sound around...'

Womble's passable impression of Suggs got an applaud and half a cheer, but Clark was unmoved. 'Very good, Wimbledon. Remind me to put you up for the Christmas cabaret. What does it mean to us?'

Womble shrugged. 'Maybe just that it's one step beyond what they've done before. Don't know, sir. Or it could mean a physical step, like the next street, or the next building.'

'OK,' said Clark. 'Now, what about Vajra – any ideas?'

General shaking of heads, all but Jaspan's: 'Except that it sounds as though it could be eastern – Indian, maybe. Ties in with the earlier notes. Kalki. I'm not up on Hindu symbolism but it would be worth someone checking.'

'Someone has been. What did you find this morning, Drake?'

'Nothing conclusive, sir, but the two suspects in the Brick Lane firebombing are Hindu, and one of them had some very right-wing reading matter in his house. It's a pretty tenuous link to neo-Nazis, but it's there. I saw nothing that linked to Vajra or Kalki.' How did they survive without search engines? 'I'll go back to Fencurch East and reinterview them.'

Clark sighed. 'Hang on. Let's stop for a moment. Let's look at what we've got. Several references to an explosion, possibly a large one. Car bomb. A Ford Zephyr. Royal Bank of Scotland, Bank of England – so maybe Threadneedle Street, or Bank tube station...'

'Sir – sorry to interrupt...' Alex piped up.

'Yes, Drake?'

'If this is for tomorrow, it's a very early warning. Why have they given us so much time?'

There was a stunned silence.

'Well, DI Drake, let's hear it.'

Clark perched on the table, arms folded, watching her.

'I don't know, sir.' She looked round the table, but everyone was waiting for her. 'They could be testing us to see how we react. See which way we jump so they can go in another direction. We don't know what they're after – whether they want maximum publicity, or whether they intend to injure. And if so, who? Who's the fair lady?' She had a sudden thought: 'A real person... like the Queen, or the Prime Minister?'

She paused for breath. No-one moved.

'Or maybe... it's not tomorrow – maybe the syzygy thing was a red herring, or we went for the wrong solution, or they're deliberately steering us wrong. Maybe it's going off sooner, and we're wasting time here...'

Clark was at the door, shouting for his officers and setting wheels in motion.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Alex phoned Fenchurch East. 'Carol? I need to re-interview the two firebomb suspects. Is Gene there?'

'He's with the Super. But you're too late, Alex. They're on their way to court.'

'Shit. Where – Queen Victoria Street?'

'No – Bow. I'll put you through to the Super's office.

When Gene came to the phone, Alex told him about the links to Brick Lane.

'They'll not get bail, so they'll be back here after lunch.'

'It can't wait. They may know something that could make sense of it.'

'They're not scheduled till after midday. I'll come and get you. Ten minutes.'

It was just under nine. The Quattro screeched to a halt in the Bishopsgate bus lane by Rose Alley. Alex leapt in and they tore off, swerving round a bus and turning left down Houndsditch, cutting up a black cab.

They barely spoke until they were headed down Whitechapel Road. Alex put a hand to Gene's head, touching it lightly. 'How's your head?'

'How do you know about that?'

'Talk of the station. How is it?'

'Fine. Painkillers knocked me out last night. Slept quite well.'

Alex kept a straight face. _If you only knew..._

'Dreamed about you.' Gene glanced across at his passenger, eyes dancing.

'Oh yes?' Alex smiled at him, daring him to elucidate.

'Indeedy.' He looked smug.

'Well, I won't hold it against you.'

'Spoilsport.'

Gene reached for Alex's hand, pulling it to his lips for a kiss, before he had to change gear to scrape past a bus that pulled in front of him without indicating.

'Bastard! Take his number.'

'How's your head, really?'

'Bit sore. Fine. How's your eye?'

'Fine. Bit sore.'

They looked at each other, enjoying the moment.

It didn't last long.

'Alpha One, where are you?'

Alex grabbed the radio. 'Whitechapel Road, heading east.'

Ray's voice, then. 'Guv – the Bengali blokes have been sprung. Van ambushed. Duffy and George Bird knocked out, and the plod in the back got his nose broken.'

'Where?'

'Mile End Road, just past the canal. Car turned down Eric Road.'

Gene put his foot on the floor; Alex flicked the siren on.

'One Panda in pursuit; others on their way.'

'We're about two minutes away. Are Duffy and George all right?'

'Think so. They're right by St Clements, so they can get checked out there.'

Gene shouted at the radio. 'It's a mental hospital, you div. On second thoughts, perfect.'

Alex said quietly: 'Get them to Casualty at the London, Ray. Head injuries need checking out.' She sent Gene a meaningful glare which he made a point of ignoring.

They reached the scene thirty seconds later. The police van, an unmarked black Transit, was slewed across the pavement, nearside front wheel on the pavement, back doors open, the windscreen shattered. Two uniforms were directing traffic, keeping the chaos to a minimum.

Duffy was sitting on the kerb, head in hands. George, a uniform PC in his forties, was standing with his colleague, a young PC that Alex didn't know.

Gene strode over to him. 'All right, Graham?'

The young plod, bloody hankerchief clamped to his nose, nodded and muttered something unintelligible. Gene clapped him on the shoulder and spoke to George Bird, who'd been driving.

'Car pulled in front of me – had to swerve or hit it, Guv. Two blokes jumped out wearing kid's masks. Had police uniforms on. Dark hair, both of 'em. Both thin, same sort of height – about the same as you, Guv. I tried to reverse, but a car had pulled right up behind me. Then one bloke had a sawn-off and was waving it at us and shouting to get out of the van. When we sat tight, he fired at the windscreen. So we got out, but Graham was still in the back with the two suspects...'

He faltered, and Gene patted his shoulder. 'OK, George. There was nothing else you could have done.'

'The bloke with the gun whacked Duffy with the barrel, and the other one slammed my head against the van. The other two opened the back door and shouted the two Asians to get out. Graham tried to stop them but he got a fist in the face and went down. They were in the cars and off before we could stand up.'

'Duffy – anything to add?' Alex helped the lanky copper to his feet. He looked more than usually lugubrious, his moustache drooping like a dead weasel over his top lip.

'No, boss. Except that...'

'What, Duffy?'

'The two Asian blokes looked really scared, like they weren't expecting this.'

'OK,' said Gene. 'Get yourselves checked out and go home.'

The radio squawked, and Alex ran to the car. 'Boss? they've found one of the cars. Abandoned under the railway bridge in Cantrell Road.'

'Directions, Ray?'

'Turn right down Eric Street. Left on Bow Common Road, then left just before the railway bridge on to Cantrell Road. It's an unadopted road along the edge of Cemetery Park. Looks like they've gone into the park.'

'OK, thanks.' Alex shouted to Gene. 'Guv! Found the car.'

It wasn't hard to find the Bengalis. All they had to do was follow the smell. Leaving the Quattro on the road, Gene and Alex ran through the trees after the uniforms; the smell of petrol and burning flesh led them straight to the bodies.

xxxxxxxxxx

Alex briefed DCI Clark about the Benagli suspects as Gene drove. 'I'm going back to Fenchurch East to look through the reports again; now we've got more to work on there may be something that jumps out.'

'OK. Hunt – can you hear this?'

'Yeah.'

'Consider yourself briefed. We're not releasing this any further, for obvious reasons. Let Dorney know, will you? Alex – stay in touch.'

'Sir.' She flicked the radio off.

'Wanker.'

'Gene – what a way to describe your Special Branch colleague.'

'And how would you phrase it, Bolly?'

'Oh, um, let's see. Callous git? Unfeeling bastard? Special Arse dickhead?'

Gene whipped the car into a side road and slammed on the brakes. 'What is it with posh birds and swearing?'

'Gives you the right 'orn, does it, Gene?'

He looked at her, eyes glittering, and put a hand on her knee, trailing it slowly up the inside of her thigh. 'Oh, you have no idea,' he growled.

Alex copied the exact same process on Gene's thigh. 'Oh, I think I do...'

Gene shuddered, his forehead touching hers, one hand burrowing under her top, sliding up over her ribcage; the other under her hair, stroking her neck, drawing her face to his until their open mouths touched, hot breath mingling. Alex put her arm over Gene's shoulder, inviting his touch, pushing into his hand, moaning softly, her tongue tracing the inside of his bottom lip, her fingers pushing through his hair.

'_Alex_... driving me mad... want you...'

She chuckled, a raw, throaty sound that made him dizzy. 'Me too... ahh, Gene... _so much..._'

No more words, then, as they attacked each other's mouths, sparring, all thought lost in feeling, drowning in waves of sensation. Gene kissed his way down Alex's throat, hot, open-mouthed kisses imprinted on her flushed skin; she lay, head thrown back, weak with desire, beyond resisting as his hand pushed up under her top, moulded and stroked her breast, pushed up so his mouth could kiss the trembling flesh at her cleavage.

'Alex... I want you to touch me...' he gasped, pulling the lever to shove his seat back, grabbing Alex's left thigh and heaving her across so that she sat astride him, grinding down on to his erection, his hands on her ribcage, thumbs stroking her nipples, licking the sweat from the hollow at the base of her throat till she groaned and took his mouth, head bending to his, growling as she nipped and grazed and nibbled at him. Alex's hand reached between her legs to find his cock, stroking his erection so he had to crush his mouth to hers to stop himself shouting for release...

A loud tapping on her window made Alex jump and nearly gave Gene a coronary. 'Crippen! What the _fuck_...'

They dropped each other like hot potatoes as the face of retribution glared at them through the toughened glass. Alex scrambled back across to the passenger seat, pulling her clothes back into place like an adolescent, exposed in the early spring sunshine to the fury of outraged prudery.

'Get out of 'ere, you filthy pair. My husband's due back any minute – you're in 'is space. Naff off – gaarn – out of it,' she yelled

'God – it's Alf Garnett's missus. Old bag, nearly killed me.' Gene, out of breath and shaking, started the car, put it in third, and stalled. He got them away from the Stepney Wife on the second attempt, scooting a hundred yards further down the road before stopping again, both of them howling with laughter.

'We're doomed to be interrupted for eternity, you know that...'

'We should be arrested. You should anyway – disturbance of my peace.'

'How old are you? Older than me, and I'm too old to be caught petting in cars. In daylight...'

'We're not that far from my house. Want to...?' Gene started to kiss her, soft lips on her cheek, her jaw, the corner of her mouth.

Alex groaned, but pushed him away, holding his head between her hands, gazing deep into the stormy eyes. '_Yes, I want to_... but we can't, Gene, not now. Think what's waiting for us – what we've left in the park, what everyone's trying to stop.'

Gene closed his eyes, sighing as though his heart would crack. 'I know. All right. Let's go and save the bloody world, then. But before we do...' He leant across and kissed her with infinite tenderness, a promise of sweetness, a plea for love. Alex's heart leapt as she returned his kiss, gave him her pledge.

He let her go, took a few deep breaths, staring at the road ahead of them. 'Right. DI Drake and DCI Hunt back on the case. Come on, Bollykecks, back to work.'

'We're on the job, Gene.'

'Don't start.'

'Yes, Guv.'

'Stop it.'

'Stop what?'

'That.'

'Oh, OK.'

'Bloody woman.'

'_Tsk_.'

'Have to have the last word, don't you?'

'_Tsk_ isn't a word.'

'It is the way you say it.'

'_Pff_.'

Gene threw her lop-sided smile and picked up the radio. 'Get me Ray Carling, love... Ray? what's the news?'

'Pathologist had a quick shufti at the site. They were both stabbed through the heart with a broad blade, about two inches wide. A sword, he reckons. something like the one we got from Sharma's house. And they both had a rough sign carved on their backs. A swastika.'

Alex felt shame wash through her. How could they be so selfish, so easily swayed by their hormones, when they were so close to violence and degradation? She glanced at Gene, who'd been silent since he'd spoken to Ray. His face was stony, the rage burning in every muscle.

Gene's shoulder was burning, the emblem of hatred carved into his flesh was being etched ever deeper. Carteret. He was part of this. Had to be. And did Miranda know? Was she just a toy, or was she a willing partner? And what did that make him – apart from the biggest fool since Oliver Hardy? _Another vile mess you've got yourself into.._.

'Gene, we should go straight to Sharma's house and search it again. Now we know what we're looking for.'

'Once we've broken the news to his wife and child that he's been executed and burned, you mean,' he snarled.

'Yes. And Dev. We should split up. I'll go to the Devs' house, you go to the Sharmas. They need to be told at the same time, and we need to search quickly.'

Gene dropped Alex at the Dev's house in Princelet Street and drove on to meet Lucas and Shaz at Sharma's house in Elder Street. The other side of Spitalfields Market, the house was a beautiful four story Georgian building, bought with his father in law's money. Flood Street father in law was in Who's Who: upper echelons of the British Establishment, a few ticks of the clock away from ermine and a coronet. What's the odds that he was a Blackshirt? Gene grabbed the radio.

'Ray? Sharma's wife – do some digging into her family. See if her father had any connections to Mosley's little tea party. I'll bet any money that family is right of Ghengis Khan.'

He parked in Elder Street where Lucas and Shaz were waiting for him; but when they went to the door, it was open, and they could hear raised voices. Gene pushed the door wide and found screaming chaos. Sharma's house had been burgled minutes earlier, by raiders who knew exactly what they wanted, and where to find it. Mrs Savitri Sharma was terrified and out of control; a blonde, blue-eyed Anglo-Saxon ideal, she had been christened Lucilla twenty four years earlier. Shaz got her to sit down, and Gene told her what they'd found in Bow.

In Princelet Street, Alex had told Govinder Dev's parents, who had brought their granddaughter Anita home from school. The news, with all its implications, left Professor Dev and his wife shocked and uncomprehending. Ray had sent a WPC to the accountants' office in St Mary Axe where Prithi Dev worked, and she'd flown back home, snatching up her daughter and rocking her, keening, until the child was screaming in fear.

Leaving the three of them to grieve, Alex searched Govinder Dev's study, looking for papers, books – anything to link him to right wing politics. While she was searching, Professor Dev stood watching her, tears sliding down his cheeks.

Alex turned to him. 'Professor Dev. I'm so sorry to have to ask you...'

'If it will catch the people who destroyed my son, I will do anything I can.'

'Thank you. Do the words Vajra or Kalki mean anything to you?'

The man was only in his fifties, but had aged before her eyes. He closed his eyes for a moment. 'Vajra is a Sanskrit word: a thunderbolt, lightning. Kalki? Kalki is the man against time, the last deity, who will cleanse the earth and begin a new cycle. A blending of Vishnu and Shiva, of sun and lightning. A messiah, if you like. Govinder is obsessed with this concept...'

He caught himself, and corrected his error. 'Govinder was obsessed.'

Alex put a hand on his shoulder, profoundly moved.

'His friend, Harish Sharma, can tell you more. He has led Govinder into this. Harish is a troubled young man.'

'Professor Dev...' Alex spoke softly. 'Harish Sharma was with your son today. He's dead too.'

xxxxxxxxxxxx

By the time Alex got back to Fenchurch East, Jim Jaspan was waiting for her.

'Jim – good. I won't be a second.' She went over to the desk, where Viv was now on duty. 'Put your cryptic mind to work on this, would you, Viv? It's a warning that came through early today. Some of it we've worked out, but I'm not convinced we're right.'

'Certainly, Ma'am.'

'As soon as you can, Viv. Not sure how much time we've got.'

Alex took Jaspan through to a deserted CID, briefed him on the events of the day, and gave him the reports on Dev and Sharma. She made them both coffee and they settled to reading, searching for anything to shed more light on the bomb threat.

Jaspan then hit the phone, ringing a contact at Cambridge who set him on a trail of academics, priests and journalists which very quickly built into a web of political and religious fanaticism that made Alex's head spin.

Gene came back, having left Lucas and Shaz at the Sharma house with instructions for sifting through for anything the raiders might have missed. He got the sword from Ray's earlier search of Sharma's house, and sent it to forensics for comparison with the wounds on Dev and Sharma, then he came to join Alex and Jim for a bit, saying little and listening.

Jaspan was buzzing. 'This all stinks. It goes right across the spectrum of religions – except Judaism – and right across the globe: south-east Asia, Middle East Europe, North America. It's just huge. But what's going on right here – who's pulling the strings today, in London?'

Gene was beginning to wonder. But he kept his theories to himself.

Alex rang hrough to Graham Clark, still in Threadneedle Street, and updated him.

'There's nothing we can find here. No Ford Zephyr or anything like it. No suspicious cars, no hint of problems at any of the banks. I've got officers checking nearby streets, but there's nothing. I've got a very nasty feeling we're being decoyed.'

Just before eleven, Alex rang through to the desk. 'Any luck with the cryptic clue, Viv?'

'Hmm. Maybe. Not had much of a chance to think this evening, but a few things rang bells. I'll come through, Ma'am.'

Alex took Viv through to Gene's office, and she perched on one side of the desk as . 'You got us some answers, Skip?'

'Don't know, Guv. I'll explain what I've worked out so far.'

'Want a drink?'

'Better not. Thanks.'

'Go on then. Amaze us.'

'Deflagration – kind of explosion. From the Latin word to burn.'

'Yes, we'd got that far. Next?'

'Barb-com. Car bomb, obviously. Fair lady - one you'd see at a fair, like a bearded lady, or a trapeze artist, or an acrobat? Vajra – no idea. Coup de foudre and Z-car - the letter Z is like a lightning flash...? Ah, 5,780K is the surface temperature of the sun – just under six thousand degrees Kelvin...'

'What?' Alex sat up. 'No-one spotted that. The things you know, Viv.'

'Thanks, Ma'am. Er, Don't watch dis – it's from a song called _One Step Beyond_. Pennyroyal – that's a kind of mint, so I assume that it's the Royal Mint, with the mention of the Old La...'

'The Mint!' Alex yelled.

'Jesus effing Christ – right on our bloody doorstep. Cheeky bastards. Viv – tell DI Minnion that we need all bodies at the Mint to look for a car bomb. Pull everyone back from the murder hunt...' Gene grabbed Viv and gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek. 'I love you, Skip,' he declared, and was gone.

'You're a genius, Viv.' Alex kissed him too, and followed Gene out of the door at a run, leaving the desk sergeant staring after them, a little dazed.

TBC


	16. Explosive

As the Quattro was zipping round to Tower Hill, Alex had a sudden thought. 'You don't think it's the actual Royal Mint, do you? In Wales? The Mint here is just offices, now...'

'I don't fucking know, do I? Get on the radio, Bolly.'

Alex asked the station switchboard to find her a DCI in Cardiff. Drumming her fingers on the dashboard while she was waiting, she was muttering. 'Where's Torchwood when you need them?'

'What?'

'Nothing, Gene.'

'Then stop chuntering. Drives me nuts.'

Gene pulled in to the gate house at the Mint, the Audi's bonnet two inches from the barrier; no security guard appeared until Gene's hand slammed down on the car horn, which magicked up a trio of uniforms. 'Find me anyone who can make decisions.'

He left Alex talking to South Wales Police, and stalked in to the gate house. 'Right, this place is mine. Anyone looking like police, bomb squad or, indeed, bomber, send them in here. If you'd be kind enough to make me a cup of tea and find some biscuits, that would be the soul of kindness.' He flicked the panicking guards a chilly smile and waved them on their way. He fished out a hip flask and took a swig to keep him going till his tea arrived.

'The Cardiff police are on the case with the Mint, Guv,' Alex said as she came in from the car. Gene grunted an acknowledgement and had another swig from his flask.

Ray, Lucas, Chris and Shaz arrived in one car, as Harry Haggerty turned up in another with Womble and David Conn. As Haggerty came into the gatehouse, sporting two beautiful bruises on his face, Gene flicked a glance at Alex, but she was smiling a hello at Womble, ignoring Haggerty entirely. _I'll hit the bastard later, if he doesn't get himself blown up first._ Gene had a fleetingly pleasing image of Haggerty coming apart at the seams, courtesy of some helpful explosive.

DCI Clark left a rear guard in Threadneedle Street, and pulled everyone else down to Tower Hill. Uniforms were checking every car in and around Royal Mint Court, tracing owners, getting as many moved as possible, and evacuating the buildings. By quarter to midnight, Royal Mint Court was locked down. Nothing suspicious had been found, everybody was off the site, and the place was being watched from every conceivable angle. The Fire Brigade was on alert, with crews ready at Shadwell and Dowgate, one appliance already in place in Cartwright Street. Everyone waiting.

Nothing.

At midnight they heard Big Ben chiming, faintly, from upriver, but all was quiet on Tower Hill.

The tension was wound good and tight; no-one was talking.

The phone rang in the gatehouse, making everybody jump. Alex picked up and listened for a moment. 'Thanks, Glyn. Speak later.' She put the phone down, and looked across at Gene, who was sitting with his feet up on a desk, brooding. 'Guv? Could I have a word?' She walked outside and waited for him.

When he appeared, she beckoned him to the back of the gatehouse, where they could talk unheard and unseen.

'What's up, Bolly? Why the cloak and dagger?'

'You've been so... quiet, ever since we got back from Bow. Thought you could with a bit of cheering up.' She smiled at him, reaching for his hands.

Gene ignored her, pulling a packet of fags from his pocket and lighting up. 'Just because I want to fuck you doesn't mean I've gone soft, Drake. I'm not feeling particularly chirpy, no, but nobody is at the moment. You planning to cheer them all up?' He took a long drag on his cigarette and turned his head away to exhale.

Alex was stunned. She stared at him for a long instant, then turned on her heel and walked away, the threat of tears too much. _Bastard. The unmitigated shit._ She couldn't believe what he'd said, running it over and over in her head as she walked through the complex, following the wall along East Smithfield to reach the service road behind Cartwright Street. Ray and Chris were stationed there with uniformed back-up. Maybe by the time she reached them she'd have pulled herself together. Going back into the gatehouse was not an option. She couldn't face that wall of sceptical faces.

Reaching a wall at the right height to sit on, she stopped and dropped her head into her hands. She was exhausted. She'd had no sleep since Sunday night, and it had been a hell of a couple of days. Gene might be rock-hard, the flinty bastard, but she'd let her guard down. Thought she had someone to lean on, rely on, turn to. _Stupid, stupid woman. _

She heard footsteps running. She didn't bother moving. _Let the sod catch up – what's he going to do – sack me?_

'Bolly...' Gene was out of breath – fags and exercise didn't mix. 'Alex...' He took another couple of deep breaths. He put a hand on her shoulder, as much to prop himself up as to stop her from walking away.

'What I said just now – I didn't mean it. It was bollocks – you know that, don't you?'

'Do I? Sounded about right.'

'No. It's all wrong. Everything's wrong. It's like poison.'

She looked up at him. 'Is this to do with the attack on Sunday night?'

'Who told you about that?'

'No-one. That's the point. Everyone knows you were attacked, but you've said nothing. What happened to you? I wish you'd trust me.'

Alex reached for his hand, and this time Gene took it, pulled her to her feet and into his arms. He buried his face in her hair, whispered to her. 'I do. I'm sorry, Bolls. Never want to hurt you...'

Voices outside the gatehouse. Alex pulled away from Gene. 'We'd better go back,' she said, with a marked lack of enthusiasm.

'No. You look knackered. Go and find Ray, tell him I've said you're completely useless and that you're to get some kip in his car until something happens.'

She drew breath to argue, but Gene stopped her mouth with his own, a moth's touch. His head still touching hers, he murmured. 'Don't answer back, DI Drake. You're no use to your officers if you can't see straight. Take it from one who knows.' With a last stroke of her face, he was gone.

Alex made her way to the service gate, finding Ray and Chris leaning against Ray's car, puffing on fags. She told them what there was to tell, which wasn't much, and they stood around in silence for a minute.

'Er, someone said that your mate Harry is Special Branch. That true?' Ray was straight in.

'Yes, Ray. It was a surprise to me when I found out on Monday. And, for your information – not that it's any of your business – but he's not my "mate", as you so quaintly put it.'

There was a small silence, then Chris piped up. 'How did you get that black eye, Boss? Looks painful.'

'Looks worse than it feels, Chris. And how did I get it? If you see Detective Sergeant Haggerty, you might be able to work that one out for yourself. I couldn't possibly comment.'

Chris and Ray swapped scandalised glances.

Suddenly, Shaz appeared from the darkness, Doc Martins making no noise on the paving. 'Hello darlin'. I mean hello Ma'am, hello Sarge, hello DC Skelton...' she giggled, putting her arm round Chris's waist, to his embarrassed pleasure.

'Sarge, the Guv says DI Drake's in no fit state for duty and has to get a bit of kip in your car or go home, whichever she prefers.' Shaz gave Alex a sly grin, and opened the back door of Ray's Cavalier. Alex sighed, and shrugged, and got into the car, secretly pleased to have evidence of Gene's care and concern.

xxxxxxxxxx

Few activities in an S-reg Vauxhall Cavalier are comfortable, and Alex didn't get much sleep, but just to rest was something. She was dreaming of Gene's kisses and the Stepney wife waving a sawn off shotgun at the windscreen when she was woken abruptly by shouts.

It was almost daybreak, the darkness broken by the promise of sunrise behind the thin cloud. Alex sat up, her head stuffed with cotton wool, eyes gritty and neck broken and badly mended. There were vehicles – a car, a van, bodies scuffling. She got out of the car and made her way to where Shaz and a plod were arguing with a young woman. Ray was yelling at a bloke with a camera on his shoulder. 'If you don't move off I'll arrest you. You've got five seconds...'

Ray's radio hissed and squawked – Gene's voice. 'Ray – we've got ball-ache. Bloody press have turned up. Watch for the sneaky bastards coming round the back.'

'They're already here, Guv, but we're on 'em.'

Two minutes later, the hacks' vehicles had moved off site, parking in Cartwright Street, and the hacks themselves were in a knot beside the gate, shouting at Alex. 'DI Drake! Is this IRA?'

Alex ignored them, knowing that even a 'no comment' would turn up on the morning news.

'How do they know who you are, Ma'am?' Chris was impressed.

'Because I'm the only female DI in the Met, Chris. Pathetic, but true.'

At the main gate, DCIs Hunt and Clark were watching their officers arguing with the media. Four TV vans and two cars were parked across the access roads, effectively barring the entrance to the site.

'Suits us,' Gene told Clark. 'Car bomb can't get on to the site now – it'd only blow up some hacks, but they'd have some nice pictures for the telly.'

'Stupid bastards,' muttered Clark. 'Serve them right.'

The moment of comradeship was ended by Ray's voice over Gene's radio, and the unmistakable sound of a speeding vehicle from beyond the perimeter wall.

'Shit. They've gone to the back. Keep the hyenas here...' Gene yelled at DI Minnion, but the media hounds had a sniff of award-winning footage and were already legging it round to East Smithfield.

Gene, Clark, and a mixed bunch of officers raced round the buildings, and beat them to it. Uniforms were all over a skinny youth who was screaming some phrase over and over as he was held to the ground and cuffed.

'A Datsun...' Womble was staring at the long yellow coupé slewed against the corner of the building.

'Fairlady 260Z, yeah,' said Ray, wandering towards the car. 'Nice.'

'Z-car...' Womble muttered. Then shouted to Clark. 'Sir – get everyone out. It could go off anytime – it's sunrise...'

'Ray – get away from the car. Ray!' Gene was yelling at his sergeant, who stopped suddenly, fifteen feet from the car, and didn't move.

'DS Carling. Turn round and walk away now.' Gene had come closer, spoke quietly to his colleague, but with force.

'He's frozen, Guv.' Alex was looking at Ray, saw him shaking, staring at the car. She ran forward, but before she could reach him, there was a small popping noise inside the car, and a sudden flash of brilliant light, a rush of brilliant sparks, a series of deafening reports... gobbets of fire burst from the car, through the open windows; one hit Alex on the arm. Gene was there, brushing the sparks away, dragging Alex back... but she pulled away from him, ran towards Ray who was crouched, arms over his head, as fountains of corsuscating colour erupted from the car, spraying fire and light towards the rising sun, showering him in sparks. As they reached him, all three were suddenly drenched in water from the fire hoses trained on the car, flooding the vehicle and everything around it. Gasping for air, Alex and Gene grabbed Ray and dragged him round the corner of the building, till they were out of reach of water and fire. Chris, Shaz, Harry, and three uniforms were there in seconds, milling round the three drenched detectives; Alex was yanked into Harry's arms before being yanked out of them by Gene.

'Oi, fuckwit – get off her.' He shoved Harry hard, and he staggered backwards.

'Recovering his balance, Harry was about to launch himself at Gene when Alex stepped in front of him, a hand on his chest. 'Sergeant Haggerty...' she spat. 'Grow up. Do your job. Go on, fuck off and protect the public.'

Harry straightened up, looked at Gene and laughed. 'Hiding behind mummy's skirts, Detective Chief Inspector? Your sergeant's scared of a few squibs and you let a woman fight your battles.'

Gene sucked in oxygen to fuel his temper, fists clenched, but Alex turned, took a step closer to him and muttered for his benefit alone. 'Don't rise to the bait. Ray and I need you now. Gene...'

Gene moved close to Harry and poked his shoulder with one finger, his voice low, cold. 'You heard the Inspector, Haggerty. Go and do some work. We'll meet another time.' He turned away from Harry, dismissing him.

Shaz was on her knees, arms around Ray. 'It's OK now, Sarge. It was just fireworks. No-one's hurt. It's OK. It's all over.'

Alex crouched in front of him, gently took his wrists and pulled his arms down. 'Ray? Ray... Look at me.'

'Bolly, move. Let me...' Gene bent down, took Ray's arms and pulled him to his feet. 'OK, Raymondo,' he said firmly. 'All over. No damage. Time for breakfast, come on.'

With the key to Alex's flat in his pocket, Gene took Ray back to Scarborough Street and got him upstairs, ringing across for Dr Spurge to come over.

'He was caught in the blast when a car bomb went off in Manchester. It must have all come back.'

'When was this?'

'Er, eight, nearly nine years ago.'

'He's been all right since?'

'Fine. He was a bit shell-shocked at the time, but he got over it.'

Dr Spurge shook two pills from a bottle and put them on the coffee table. He went over to Ray and sat next to him on the sofa. 'Sgt Carling – you need a hot shower, a cup of tea, and sleep. I've left you two tablets which will give you sleep with no dreams. Go and see your GP tomorrow, and try not to be brave. It doesn't help.'

He patted Ray's shoulder, nodded to Gene, and left.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Gene, who'd pretty much dried out by the time Ray was sorted out, left him sleeping in Alex's bed, and headed back to the station. _Her bed's seen more traffic than a Holiday Inn since the weekend._ He'd woken up there yesterday morning, aroused from the scent of her, and the dreams he'd had. Dreams of Alex in his arms, kissing him... Memories of Alex in the car, moaning beneath his touch, astride him like a maenad, wild, undeniable... Gene stopped halfway down the stairs, had to lean against the wall as his legs were shaking with lust. _Can't go into CID with a hard-on. Not a police issue weapon._ He waited for a minute, thought about Special Branch, the paperwork and the clear-up ahead. _OK, that's doing the trick._

Ray would probably be off for a few days, Alex would effectively be part-time, still in Special Branch's clutches, and this bloody case was getting more complicated by the day. And that's without thinking about Miranda, her deviant bastard husband, and their connection to all this crap.

CID was deserted. Half the CID team were still over at the Mint with SOCO, the rest of them were back on the double murder and Clark was interviewing the car driver with Jaspan.

Gene went to make himself a cup of tea and found Alex in the kitchen. He wrapped his arms round her waist and kissed her neck. 'Make me a cuppa, love,' he murmured in his most seductive tones.

Alex turned in his arms and put her mouth to his ear. 'Make your own, you old chauvinist,' she whispered, playing with his hair.

'You silver-tongued devil woman, you.' Gene kissed the top of her head. 'You OK?'

'Yes, fine...' She looked at him, questioning.

'Car... explosion... thought it might bring back... you know – last year.'

A slow smile spread over Alex's face. 'Do you know, it didn't cross my mind. And I've just realised why.'

Gene raised his eyebrows and waited.

'Because you were there.' She reached up to smooth away the tiny frown that appeared between his eyes. 'I know I'm safe with you.'

Gene gazed and gazed at her, breathing her in, marvelling at the feel of such a woman in his arms, still not quite able to believe the evidence in front of him. Dreams didn't come true. He remembered their neighbour when he was a kid. Old Mordy, Mr Mandelbrot, used to tell him over and over: "Take what you want, and pay for it." Whatever the cost of loving Alex, it was worth paying, twice, ten times over.

'Safe, eh? Not always.' He squeezed her, pushed his hips against hers. 'In fact, not safe at all.'

Alex laughed low in her throat, her eyes glittering. Gene ran his hands down her hips and round to cup her arse, pulling her tight to him. Hot.

'Raymondo's snoring in your bed, so unless you fancy sharing your pillow with his perm, you're homeless. If you beg nicely, I'll let you crash on my sofa tonight.'

'Oh... I think you're the one who'll be begging,' said Alex, leaning forward till her open mouth was a breath away from his, then biting his chin.

Gene sucked in a breath, forgot where they were...

But, luckily, he was reminded by DC Granger, back from Tower Hill and in search of biscuits. 'Oh! sorry...' she giggled, and backed out, her face split by the broadest of grins.

TBC


	17. a Losing faith

A phone rang in the office. 'Ma'am?' Shaz called from her desk, not keen to walk into the kitchen again. Alex emerged, looking cool enough. 'DI Wimbledon, Ma'am.'

Alex took the phone. 'Hello, Womble. Where are you?'

'At the lab. SOCO had a good ferret through the car while it was in situ, and now it's being brought back for a proper going over. From what we've seen, it looks like pyrotechnics and nothing else. Didn't destroy much – we can see all the fuses and shellcases. Odd thing is that they used a Diehl and Junghans timer.'

'Deal and what?'

'Diehl and Junghans. Big German electronics firm. One of their timers was used to set off the Bologna bomb two years ago – don't you remember?'

'Er...'

'You see what it means?'

'Tell me.'

'Nazi connection. Neo-nazis or the genuine article, still making trouble. Anyway – can you tell Clark that Forensics are pushing this to the head of the queue? I'll be over later.'

Alex went to find Graham Clark, and gave him Womble's message.

'Well, well. Nazis and Zionists. Our bombers like their little games, don't they?'

'Zionists?'

'The boy. Avram Halevy. Nineteen and gullible. Told by a rabbi to drive the Datsun to the Mint for sunrise. He gave the idiot a choice – stay in the car and be martyred, or run and fight another day.'

'Not a complete idiot, then, if he ran for it.'

xxxxxxxxx

Gene had gone for a piss and was about to go back to the office when Harry shoved through the door to the Gents and sauntered in. 'Ah, _Mister_ Hunt. Just the man.'

'If you want a bloody nose, stay right there. If not, get out of my way, arsewipe.'

Harry laughed, and held his arms wide. 'Oh, go ahead, Hunt. Feel free. Unprovoked attack on a Branch officer – go straight to jail, do not pass Go.'

Gene moved fast, grabbing Harry's lapels and throwing him against the wall. 'You are starting to vex me, sonny.' He pushed Harry back against the wall with one hand on his throat. 'Unprovoked attack? You hit a superior officer, who is not only my DI, but also happens to be a woman. You're a disgrace.'

'So she likes a bit of rough sex. Jealous, DCI Cunt? You can't get into her knickers and I can.' Seeing the realisation dawn in Gene's eyes, Harry laughed in his face. 'Oh, didn't she tell you I fucked her on Monday night? Actually, she didn't give me much choice – insatiable, that one. Especially when her blood's up...'

Gene was incandescent. 'You tried to force her, you sick bastard, and she defended herself.'

'Is that what she told you? And you believed her. That's so sweet...' Harry laughed, then choked as Gene hit him in the stomach. Bent double and gasping for breath, Harry kept laughing. He straightened up slowly. 'If you showed Alex Drake who's boss, like you show Miranda Campbell, you might get somewhere. Take it from me, Cunt, if you think Miranda's a good sparring partner, Alex is a knock-out...'

Gene's fist smashed into Harry's face, blood spurting. 'You piece of shit. Don't step into this station again, or I'll put a hook through your shrivelled scrotum and hang you from the blue lamp.'

Harry didn't bother trying to stem his nosebleed; just grinned at Gene through bloody teeth. He punched Gene sharply on his injured shoulder. 'How's the scar coming on? Showed Alex yet? She might like one too.'

In response, Gene kneed Harry in the balls and left him collapsed on the floor, smearing blood over the green tiles. Gene lifted his foot to kick the shit out of him, but the inert body of Gil Hollis flashed through his head, and Alex's face as she pushed him away. He put his foot on Haggerty's head, pushed it to the floor until he yelped. 'Stay away from Alex. Come and find me any time you'd like another taste, shit head.'

At the front desk, Gene's face ashen with pain, he found Viv. 'Skip – poor Sergeant Haggerty has slipped and fallen in the bogs. I think he's banged his nose. What a shame, eh. Get the first aid box.'

'You all right, Guv? You look awful.'

'Oh, thanks, Skip. Too kind. I'm going home. Back later. I don't want calls, or callers – understand?'

'Yes, Guv.'

The Quattro took the brunt of Gene's rage as he drove home; the pain in his body was eclipsed by roaring fury against the death of hope.

Haggerty had killed everything in one vicious minute; his words burned like caustic, eating into Gene's soul, dissolving the happiness he'd allowed to seep in with every touch of Alex's lips, every smile, every look. He'd really believed that the sweetness he'd found in her could heal the bitterness and grief that had filled him in the last eighteen months. In her arms he had forgotten his loss; with her touch she'd wiped away the taint of Theberton Street. She'd brought him back to life, given him something to work for. This morning, in those few moments in the kitchen, he'd seen a future in her smile, tasted the promise of happiness on her lips.

_All turned to ashes. _

But was any of it true? _Haggerty's a lying gobshite. Alex said she'd hit him to get away. She'd hit him because he'd hit her. She'd been laughing about it._ Because she didn't want him to fuss, or because she enjoyed it? Every instinct said Haggerty was lying, that Alex was true. But the tiny doubt was burrowing through his guts. Alex had hit him before. More than once. _What if? what if... Alex was like Miranda?_ It made him sick – he couldn't bear it. _No – the Special Branch toerag is lying scum._ He knew how to hurt; knew exactly where to hit.

And Haggerty knew about Miranda, knew about his scar. _Knew a lot about it._ He could tell Alex any time. Tell Alex about him, about Miranda, about Carteret. About the scar. About the anger, and the violence. The bitter rage.

Even if Alex was true, how could he let her see the truth of himself? To see her turn away from him in disgust...

_Christ. It feels like someone dying. Me. Alex. The future. Hurts. Hurts like nothing before. Can't... _

He slewed to a halt outside his house; cut the engine. Stumbled out of the car and indoors. Looked for whisky. _Bloody Carol took it. Interfering bloody woman._ Gene caught sight of his face in the mirror. _Old man with wet eyes. Stupid, weak man. Angry old bastard._

His hands clenched. He'd faced worse. More bloody women making his life hell. _Fuck that. Fuck the lot of them._ _Look after your mates, and look after yourself, because no other bastard will._

His arm was throbbing; on fire. It had been hurting before Haggerty had hit him, and Gene realised it had been two days – no, three – since Dr Penfold had put the dressing on, since when he'd ignored it.

He took his shirt off and peeled the dressing off, breath hissing through his teeth. _Bloody hurts. Bastard_. It was a mess, red, puffy and weeping. He shrugged on a loose tracksuit top and went next door. After a few moments, Miles Penfold came to the door. 'Looking for Alice? Morning surgery.'

Miles was a bright bloke; he knew his prickly neighbour was not the waiting sort. Rather bleed to death than sit amongst the ailing locals. 'She'll be back in an hour or so. I'll tell her you called.'

'Thanks. Appreciate it.'

Gene filled the wait with tea, aspirin and a bath, with Radio Two providing interference to his own black thoughts. Jimmy Young chatting up Heseltine about inner city violence. _I'd show him inner city violence. Give him a day out to remember – introduce him to Miranda. Better yet, the bastard Haggerty – that kind of copper the country can do without. _

Gloria Hunniford was on by the time Dr Penfold banged on the front door. She knew that DCI Hunt was not one to bother with the medical profession unless forced; she also knew he wouldn't ask twice, and since he was a nice quiet neighbour, she didn't want him dying on her.

'So, Mr Hunt. Head hurting you? How's the arm?'

'Head's OK.' _She didn't ask about my heart_. 'Arm hurts. Some rubbish hit it this morning.'

'Yes, saw the news. No casualties, they said. Been changing the dressing every day? No, didn't think you would. Well... you'll have a good big scar, now.'

Patched up, clean and fed, Gene packed an overnight bag and went back to work. Alex had gone off with Clark and Jaspan, but had left a note on his desk.

'_Help the homeless. See you later.'_

Gene scrunched the note in his fist and flung it at the bin. Then kicked the bin across his office. Shaz and Lucas, the only two in the office, looked at each other and instantly thought of tasks needing doing elsewhere.

xxxxxxxxx

Ray shambled into the office at teatime, groggy and taciturn.

'Hello Sarge – how're you feeling?' Shaz beamed at him. 'Tea?'

'Yeah. Thanks, Shazza.'

Gene emerged, leaning against his doorframe. 'What time do you call this then, Raymondo?'

'Sorry, Guv. Don't even know what time it is.'

'Early. You're not supposed to be back here till tomorrow morning. Quack signed you off, remember?'

'I'm all right, Guv. Don't want a fuss.'

'Don't give a rat's knacker what you want, Carling. I call the shots round here. Come on. Home.'

'Rather be here, Guv.'

'Well, I wouldn't, and you're cooking my tea tonight. Alphabetti spaghetti, so I can see if you can still spell your name.'

'What?' Ray was completely confused.

'Granger – I'll be staying at Ray's flat for a couple of nights, should anyone ask.'

And he left, pushing Ray ahead of him through the double doors.

When Alex came back an hour later, she automatically looked for Gene, frowning when she couldn't see him. 'Where is he, Shaz?' The girl looked shifty. Alex waited for an answer.

'Er, he's taken Ray home, Ma'am.'

'Oh, OK. He'll meet us in Luigi's, then.'

'Um... don't think he's coming back tonight. Said he was staying at Ray's.'

'Staying the night?'

'Couple of nights, he said, Ma'am.' Shaz waited for the axe to fall. But Alex just stood there, frowning.

'Did anything happen while I was out?'

'Not really. Although...'

'What? Spit it out, Shaz.'

'This morning, the Skip phoned through to say the Guv had gone home for a bit. Said he looked really ill.

'What sort of ill?'

'The Skip said he was green. Was he sick after we went last night?'

'No. He didn't wake up before I left. And you weren't there last night. Nor was I, remember?'

'No, Ma'am. I mean, yes Ma'am, I remember. Or rather, I don't...'

Alex gave her a tight smile, grateful for her support but worried about Gene. 'But he came back later.'

'Yes, about an hour ago. He read something on his desk, and lost his temper. Kicked the bin, you know... Then he took the Sarge home.'

Alex's mind was racing. What the hell happened after she left? They were set for an evening together, a night together. For god's sake, she'd even started to think about a life together. Whatever life she had here. Whatever life any of them had, anywhere. Now he'd left her without a word, angry – but angry at what? She could feel tears threatening, and turned to leave.

'There was something else, Ma'am.'

Alex spoke without turning; didn't want Shaz to see the weakness. 'What, Shaz?'

'Word's going round there was a bit of a barney this morning. Blood on the floor in the gents' and the doc called to clean up a bloody nose.'

'Whose?' Alex had a nasty feeling she already knew.

'Sergeant Haggerty's, Ma'am.'

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

TBC


	18. Confidences

Gene drove Ray over Tower Bridge and through Bermondsey to Rotherhithe. Ray's flat, in a shabby Victorian house overlooking St Mary's church, was a minute's stagger from the Mayflower pub, right on the water's edge. They'd barely spoken since leaving the office, both lost in their own thoughts; leaving the car outside the flat they shambled down to the pub, getting pints and taking them outside where they propped themselves on the wall, looking across the river to Wapping.

'What are we doing down here, Ray?'

'Dunno, Guv.'

'Godforsaken bloody city. Look at it.' Gene nodded across at his manor, at the scars of wartime bombing and factories derelict since the early 1970s. 'Too big. Humans reduced to rats in a place like this. Treated like rats, behave like rats.'

'Makes us ratcatchers, does it, Guv?'

'Had a woman round from the Council the other day. Pest control, she said. Had complaints about rats coming off the canal. Hard clock she was – could crack bricks on her chin. Bloody pest control. Sounds like clipping kids round the ear more than killing vermin.'

There was silence while they supped their ale.

'Decent pint, this.'

'Not a patch on the Railway Arms, though. He kept a good pint of Boddy's, did Nelson.'

'Not as good as the T'waites's. Bloody superb.'

'For soft gets like you, maybe.'

Ray almost laughed. 'Do you miss it, Guv?'

Gene took so long to reply that Ray thought he hadn't heard the question.

'Do you miss ...'

'I'm not deaf.'

'Sorry, Guv.'

Gene sighed. 'Yes, I miss it. Knew where I was then. My wife, my old mum, my team, my city. That bloody nancy-boy Sam nearly wrecked it when he first turned up, but we got him trained. Wasn't so bad in the end, the skinny ManU poof.'

'He stopped being such a twat once Annie gave him a good seeing-to.'

'You never liked him, did you?'

'Can't say we were ever friends, no. Not like you and him were.'

'I sometimes catch myself thinking he still might show up. Daft bastard.'

'Not your fault he got himself killed, Guv.'

'You never forgave him for getting you blown up, did you?'

Ray stared out over the river.

'Ray?'

'Changes you, something like that.'

'Bring it back, this morning?'

'My round. Pint?'

'Ray – this morning...'

'Leave it, Guv.'

'Whisky, then.'

'Hadn't you better stick to beer this time?'

'What?'

'Don't want another Monday night, Guv. You were well out of it. Painkillers and booze. Don't you remember?'

'No.'

'You were falling-down drunk after two pints and a chaser. So pissed it took four of us to get you upstairs. Shazza and that hairy mary Skelton were wetting themselves bleating that you were going to snuff it. I bloody told them you'd be OK.'

'You broke into DI Drake's flat and dumped me there.' The chill in Gene's voice should have warned Ray, but if he heard the warning, he ignored it.

'Didn't break in. Got the key from Luigi.'

'Still DI Drake's flat.'

'She wasn't there. Wasn't going to know. What's the problem?'

Gene was about to bollock his idiot sergeant, but something was twitching at the back of his mind. _Who knew what? Somebody knew... what? _

'Carling, you are as considerate as a rhino with a hard-on. Come on. You're cooking.'

They went back to the flat, ate beef sausages and beans, watched _Coronation Street_ and argued about where City was going to finish in the League.

'Fiver says in the top ten.'

'Make it a tenner and you're on.'

'Oh, come on, Guv...'

'Chicken.'

'Realistic.'

xxxxxxxxxxx

_Haggerty knows about Miranda. He knows everything about me in that house._

Gene was instantly wide awake on Ray's couch, four inches too short for him. Still dark, all quiet. No traffic noise. Early, then. _Late for me. I'm stuffed. He can get me suspended any time he likes. So bloody thick. Concussion – Dr Penfold was right, damn her. Patchy memory, can't think straight, just fucking stupid._

He'd have to go to Dorney first thing. Tell him everything. But what – and how did Haggerty find out? He turned the light on, checked his watch – five forty-seven. Gene padded to the bathroom, showered, shaved, dressed and made himself tea and toast. Thinking. Trying to think. _Haggerty knew about me having sex with Miranda_. He knew what Miranda liked. He knew about the swastika that Carteret carved into his arm – but did he see, or was he told? Who told him – Miranda, or Carteret? Did he find out afterwards, or did he know what they planned to do? Was he playing their game, or doing his job? Had Special Branch been watching all the time? _Did Haggerty have sex with Alex on Monday? _

He checked his watch – almost six-thirty. He rang Superintendent Dorney's home number.

Half an hour later, Dorney answered Gene's knock, small dog on a lead behind him. The smart town house in Barkham Terrace was right opposite the Imperial War Museum, and the two men plus dog crossed the road and walked through the gates, towards the giant guns.

'So, Hunt – what's so sensitive that it calls for this morning constitutional? Gyatso thinks he's died and gone to dog heaven, getting an early walk.'

'Nice, er, dog, sir. What is it?'

'Tibetan terrier. Motheaten cur. Cost a fortune to buy, costs a fortune to keep, but Mrs Dorney thinks it's the next incarnation of the Buddha. Come on, Hunt – spit it out.'

So in an excruciatingly uncomfortable fifteen minutes, Gene told the Super about the Carterets and the marks they'd left on him, about Haggerty, and the growing web of links between them and the bombings. He didn't mention Alex, and didn't linger on the details of his relationship with Miranda.

Dorney was silent after Gene stopped talking. Head down, pacing slowly across the lawns of the museum.

'You know that this is Bedlam, Hunt?'

'Yes, sir, I'm sorry. It's a mess.'

'No. The museum building. Used to be Bethlem Hospital – the lunatic asylum. Bedlam.'

'Ah. No, didn't know. How appropriate, sir.'

'Indeed. So what do you propose, Hunt?'

'Depends on you, sir. Will this mean suspension?'

'For you? No. You're not the first copper to get caught in a honey trap. Stupidity is not a crime in itself. You've at least been smart enough to tell me now. No. First problem to solve is this Special Branch fellow. Have you spoken to DCI Clark?'

'No, sir.'

'Good. Don't know where this stops. Look, I've got a meeting at the Yard at eight. I suggest you come in with me. We'll ring Superintendent Cruickshank from the car and you'd better clue him in. He will know what Haggerty's up to; and if he doesn't, we know where to go next.'

'Sir.'

They headed back to Barkham Terrace.

'I'll protect you as far as I can, Hunt. But I can't guarantee your involvement will stay hidden.'

'No.'

The bleakness of Gene's answer made Dorney look at him intently. Despite appearances, Dorney was no fool. An establishment man, maybe, but humane, and shrewd. He'd hired Gene, after all.

'If we play this right, Hunt, you could come out of this smelling of roses.'

'If you say so, sir.'

Dorney ushered Gene to the waiting car while he relinquished care of the mystic dog to his wife and collected his briefcase.

'Morning, DCI Hunt.' Dorney's driver – a middle-aged constable that Gene had seen around the station – opened the car door for Gene.

'Morning, Moody. Thanks.'

It wasn't far to New Scotland Yard – across Lambeth Bridge, up Horseferry Road and round to Broadway. Without traffic, five minutes. That time of the morning, four times as long. It gave the two men time to talk through the details of the bombings properly, giving Dorney a great deal more insight than the report summaries he'd been fed.

As they turned into Victoria Street, Dorney gave his DCI a considered look. 'Gene – is there anything else I should know now? Anything you might regret not telling me?'

Gene returned his gaze for a moment, then sighed. 'Probably. But it's very personal, and involves another officer who has done nothing wrong.'

'DI Drake, I assume.'

Gene glanced at Moody. Dorney smiled. 'PC Moody is stone deaf, has no vocal chords and is often completely blind. Nor does he understand English. And to top it all, he is spectacularly stupid. Isn't that right, Moody?'

'Quite right, sir.'

Gene cracked a brief smile, then sighed. 'I bumped into Sergeant Haggerty yesterday morning, and took the opportunity to reprimand him about his treatment of a senior officer.'

'You hit him.'

Gene held his breath for a moment. 'Yes, sir.'

'Did he hit you?'

'Once. On the shoulder.'

'He knew where you'd been injured?'

'Could have been a lucky guess.'

'How much damage did you do, exactly?'

'A jab to the nose, a fist in his stomach and a knee in the bollocks.'

'Why?'

'Gross insubordination.'

'Come on, Gene. I've got to be upstairs in four minutes.'

'He hit DI Drake, sir. Gave her a black eye on Monday night. He was boasting about it. And threatened to tell her about the scar on my arm.'

'Ah. So that's why you've told me now.'

'Partly, yes, sir. But mostly because this could implicate me, embarrass the Met and compromise the investigation.'

'Have you spoken to DI Drake about this?'

'No.'

'Don't you think you should?'

'Yes. But...'

'I know. It hasn't escaped my notice, Gene.' Dorney picked up his briefcase, and Moody opened the door for him. 'Ask Cruickshank to ring me. Keep me fully informed.'

xxxxxxxx

Detective Superintendent Brian Cruickshank was waiting for Gene in the main foyer, with coffee and bacon sandwiches. 'Come on, let's go and join the spooks' parade in St James's Park. Clark and Haggerty are elsewhere, but there's no point in wasting a sunny morning, is there?'

They nipped through to the park and sat watching eccentrics feeding the birds, and faceless men strolling by the water, having casual conversations. 'Those two – what do you reckon – Stazi? CIA?'

Gene ate the last of his bacon sarnie and watched the bland men in mid-range suits. 'Min. of Ag., probably.'

Cruickshank smiled. 'You don't impress easily, do you, DCI Hunt?'

'The Stazi have got nothing on the regulars at the Trafford Arms.'

Cruickshank chuckled. 'I know of you by reputation. You don't do it justice.'

It was Gene's turn to smile, a wry twitch. 'Depends who you talk to.'

'How about Harry Haggerty?'

'Not someone I'd go to for a reference.'

'No... Come on, let's see if we can find the black swans.'

They swigged back the last of their coffee and chucked their rubbish in a bin.

'Good places for bombs, rubbish bins. Busy street, metal bins – innocuous, invisible shrapnel in waiting.'

'You been in Beirut, or something?'

'Or something.'

'Ever been to Hyde?'

The question earned Gene a sharp look, but no response.

'Cough, then, Hunt. Spill the beans.'

'Question first, sir. Has Haggerty been running surveillance on an outfit called Countermeasure?'

'No. He's been undercover at Imperial College keeping tabs on a bunch of green eco-Nazis.'

'Green... Nazis?'

'Yes.'

'The limitless ways which people find to stir up shit amazes me, sir. So where does Haggerty fit in?'

'There are links with messianic cults – like the Brick Lane firebombers.'

'But they were mavericks. Weren't they?'

'We don't think so. It was you that made the connection to the Flood Street house – old money, serious influence.'

'Fine. Good. Countermeasure?'

'Hmm. OK, yes. We are keeping an eye on them, but Haggerty's not involved. Your turn.'

Gene told him.

xxxxxxxxxxx

'Ok, Yvonne, I'll be up in five minutes.' Alex put the phone down. 'Just going up to see the Super, Shaz. Won't be long.'

'Ah, Alex. Good – come and sit down.' Dorney was charm itself. 'I've asked DIs Jaspan and Wimbledon to join us in a few minutes, but I wanted a quick word with you first.'

Alex frowned. 'Something wrong, sir?'

'No, not at all. But DCI Hunt is officially taking leave for a week or so, with immediate effect, and...'

'Taking leave... but why?'

'He's long overdue for a holiday, and with the year end coming up...'

'Sir...' Alex was looking for a better answer.

'All right, Alex, I'll be straight with you. DCI Hunt is working on a little project for us, so he won't be in for a few days.'

'What project, sir?'

'Better if he tells you, Alex. But what I wanted to tell you was that I'm making you up to acting DCI while he's away.'

'What's going on, sir? Is DCI Hunt suspended?'

'No, no, Alex. It's as I've explained. This is good experience for you, and a good solution for the team. And if you agree, I'm going to ask Jaspan and Wimbledon to operate from Fenchurch East while they're seconded to the Met. It'll give you some extra strength, apart from anything else.'

'Er... fine, sir. Yes, I'll appreciate having them here. But...'

'And if you like, DCI Clark will let you have DS Haggerty as well.'

'No, sir. Not required.'

'No to another DS, or no to Haggerty? Be straight with me, Alex.'

'No to Haggerty. He would not be an asset.'

'Good. Thank you for being candid.' Dorney buzzed through to his PA and got the others sent in.

Five minutes later, Alex went back to CID with Womble and Jim, introducing them to Carol Watkins at the desk as they walked through. Leading her colleagues through the double doors, Alex called the rabble to order.

'Right, gentlemen, pay attention. Some news for you. First – this is DI Roger Wimbledon from the RUC in Belfast, and DI Jim Jaspan from GMP; they are seconded to the Met to work on the bombings, and will be with us here for the time being. Next – the Guv is taking leave for a few days, and while he's away – and only while he's away – I've been asked to stand in as acting DCI.'

Against the buzz of speculation, she raised her voice. 'Before you ask, there is no problem. The Guv will be back next week, and all will return to the status quo. For now, however, perhaps you'd like to do some work.'

Chris was on to Jaspan in a heartbeat, to talk Manchester.

Ray was straight into Gene's office, the old hostility back. 'Didn't take you long to slide into the Guv's chair, Ma'am. What's going on? The Guv said nothing to me last night.'

'No pillow talk, Ray?' Alex was silky smooth, smiling like a basilisk. 'Well, perhaps the Guv thought it would be better to talk to the Super before he confided in his DS.'

'You wouldn't understand. We're mates. It's a man thing.'

'You'll have to ask DCI Hunt, then. I can't tell you anything more. What are you doing in this morning, anyway? I thought you were signed off for a couple of days.'

'I'm fine.'

'Then I suggest you ask DI Wimbledon what you can do to help him.'

Ray got a call from the Guv at the end of the afternoon. 'I thought I told you to take the day off, Carling?'

'Bored, Guv. Felt fine.'

'Do you need a lodger tonight, then?'

'If you want. But I don't need a babysitter.'

'How gracious. Then I'll consider myself excused.'

'Do you want to talk to DI Drake, Guv?'

'Do I need to?'

'She's colonised your office already, got her cleverclogs mates installed in here. Seems happy enough.'

'Good. Make sure you give her 100 of your loyalty and attention. That's a direct order, DS Carling.'

'Yes, Guv. But it's not...'

'But me no buts, Carling. I'll be back next week.' And he was gone.

First thing on Friday morning, Womble got a package from the Fire Brigade – a VHS tape of footage they'd shot at the Mint. Less than five minutes from first sight of the car to the extinguishing of the last sparks, the footage was dramatic enough, with pyrotechnics going off in all directions.

The team were throwing out comments and questions, but Shaz nudged Alex. 'Ma'am, look at the Sarge.'

Ray was sitting, staring at the now blank screen, eyes wide and unfocused.

'Thousand yard stare,' muttered Alex.

Womble heard her. 'You think he's got PTSD?'

'Could be. You seen it before?'

'In Ulster? Oh, yes.'

Ray's problems were eclipsed half an hour later by DCI Clark's call. 'Explosion in Park Lane. It's chaos, Alex.'

TBC


	19. Fight or flight

Womble and Jaspan left at a run. Clark had told Alex to stay put – Park Lane was a long way off her patch as Fenchurch East's acting DCI. 'I gather Hunt's on leave. You're better employed there, Alex.'

'Was it a car bomb?'

'No. Not sure what it was – there was an explosion at the front of the building, at about first floor level. Minor injuries, as far as we know. Might have been a mortar attack – we'll know more later. We'll be in touch.'

'Chris – put the telly on. ITV. There might be a news flash. And put a blank tape in – hit the record button as soon as.'

'Shall I put the radio on, Boss? LBC will be the first, I reckon.'

'Good thinking, Chris.'

They didn't have long to wait. LBC cut into the lunchtime talk show at twenty to one, but said nothing more than they already knew. ITN's one o'clock news led with the story. Over shaky camera shots of a smoking hole in the building's stone facade, a melée of ambulances, fire engines and police cars and people milling about, came the measured tones of Trevor McDonald.

'There has been an explosion at the offices of Barclays Bank International at Stanhope Gate in Park Lane. There have been a number of minor injuries from flying glass and debris. Unconfirmed reports suggest the building may have been hit with a mortar shell.'

At intervals through the programme came more snippets. A comment from DCI Clark which said nothing new; a shot of Womble running into the building with a bomb disposal man in body armour; interviews with passers-by and a tearful woman holding a pad to her bleeding scalp. Journalists making links with the Mint car bomb and Brick Lane, speculating whether they were connected with the letter bombs on Valentine's Day, or had any connection to the state visit of the Sultan of Oman.

Phones rang in CID wth only Shaz to answer them – everyone else was glued to the box. Shaz came to Alex's side. 'Quick word, Ma'am?'

They went to Gene's office.

'The Guv's just rung, Ma'am.'

'Where from? Why didn't you tell me?'

'Don't know where he was, Ma'am, and he didn't want to talk to anyone. Just asked if you were here. I said yes, and he rang off.'

Chris put his head round the door. 'Ma'am – more news.'

ITN had been sent a video – delivered by motorcycle courier ten minutes after the explosion. The video, taken from inside the railings of Hyde Park, was steady and clear; something hit the stone facade of Barclay's Bank, and debris showered out over the street with a lot of smoke and noise, setting people running and screaming. The clip ended there, and there was more from the reporter at the scene. Shaz nudged Alex's arm. 'Look at the Sarge, Ma'am.'

Ray was sitting hunched into his chair, staring at the television, shaking visibly.

'Oh, Christ. He's in trouble. Shaz – go and make him a cup of tea. We need normal.' Alex went across to Ray. 'Can I have a word, Ray?'

No response.

'DS Carling, a word. Now.'

Alex's formal tone got through to him. Ray looked up at her, and made a visible effort to get control of himself. He stood, and followed Alex to the kitchen, where Shaz put two mugs of tea on the table for them before nipping out.

'Sit down, Ray.'

'What's this about, DI Drake?' Ray had recovered his hostility, or at least was able to hide behind it. Alex knew how it worked.

'Sit down, Ray.'

He sat.

'Drink your tea. Have a wafer.'

Ray did neither, but glared at her.

'Don't fight me, Ray. I'm not your enemy.'

'What do you want?' He ate a wafer whole and took a swig of tea.

'What I'd _like_ is for you to treat me with civility, if courtesy is beyond you. What I _want_ is to help you work through this stress.'

'Stress. What's that then? ... _Ma'am_.' He rolled his eyes and sneered.

Alex took a deep breath.

'Patrick O'Brien...'

Ray glared at her, then looked down at the table. He went to pick up his tea, but his hand was trembling. He pushed the mug away.

'Ray – 1973. Tell me about Patrick O'Brien.'

'Ancient history.'

'History's good. Tell me.'

'Nothing to tell.'

'OK. Then tell me about a vehicle parked outside a school. Registration number HLG 118K. Green estate car.'

Ray was sweating.

'Tell me about a yellow Datsun Fairlady at the Royal Mint.'

Ray's fists were clenched; he was shaking, the sweat running down his face.

'Tell me about Frank Miller.'

He exploded, pushing his chair back so violently it tipped over and clattered across the room. '_Shut up, shut the fuck up..._' He barely stopped himself from hitting Alex, pushing his face close to hers, looming over her.

Alex put up her hands, placating, calming. 'I'm sorry. It's OK. It's OK. '

'It's _not_ bloody _okay_. What the fuck do you think you're doing to me?'

Shaz was in the doorway, alarmed. Alex glanced at her, gave her the most minimal shake of the head to indicate all was well, and Shaz disappeared.

Alex stood up slowly, put her hands on Ray's shoulders, looked right into his eyes. Ray couldn't meet her gaze.

'I'm really sorry, Ray. I had to get the point home. There is a problem which we need to sort out. It's not your fault, and it's nothing to be ashamed of.'

He looked up then. 'Who said I was ashamed?'

'You're a brave man, and you can't control your feelings at the moment, and that must feel bad.'

Ray said nothing.

'Drink your tea. Please – here.'

Ray drank the tea in three gulps and dumped the mug in the sink, then lit a cigarette and took a long drag.

'So... what? You think I'm going nuts? Going to try your psycho tricks on me?'

'Sit down.' Alex steered him to her chair, then went to pick up the other one.

'It's not a question of tricks. It's a physical response that your body makes to certain signals, and you can't consciously control it. You know about adrenalin, yes?'

Ray nodded, impatient.

'Adrenalin is a chemical our bodies make as a response to what we have learned is exciting. Good exciting as well as bad exciting. You see a sexy bird, your heart beats faster, you breathe a little faster... You watch your horse winning a race, you get caught up in the excitement... And when someone comes at you with a knife, you're suddenly ready to fight, to save your life. That's adrenalin kicking in, an instinctive response. Yes?'

'Yeah, OK... but...'

'Hang on. Sometimes it gets out of sync, and you start responding the wrong way. It's brain chemistry, that's all. The wrong chemical at the wrong time.'

'Like being on drugs.'

'Yes, exactly – but these chemicals are naturally produced in the brain or in the body, so we need to find a way to teach your brain not to do it. Have you heard of post-traumatic stress disorder?'

'Something to do with Vietnam vets.'

'Yes. The name's new, but it's been around for ever. They used to call it shell-shock.'

'So shell shock is cause by chemicals in the brain – what?'

'I can't give you details, Ray.'

'I'm not stupid. Just because I didn't do Latin doesn't mean I can't understand.'

'Ray – I can't give you details because I can't remember the names and I don't really understand the science. I'll have to go and do some reading.'

'Oh. But if I know what's causing it, why can't I just sort it out myself?'

'Because knowing isn't enough. It's like a phobia – irrational, but uncontrollable. We don't have poisonous spiders in Britain, but a lot of people are so terrified of spiders that they are incapable of controlling their fear. They know the spider can't hurt them, so they know there's no need to be afraid of it, but they can't control how they feel, and their fear can be extreme. And that's with no real danger at all.'

Ray was listening intently.

'You had to face two very real and extreme threats to your life so it's perfectly reasonable to recognise another real danger, and be afraid of it, even years later.'

'It's cowardly.'

'It's an instinct gone wrong. A footballer rips a tendon – he needs time, rest and physio. Same for the mind – it's just another part of the body. Time, rest and brain physio. An injury to mend.'

Ray looked at Alex, thinking. Slowly, he nodded. 'OK.'

xxxxxxxx

When Ray had gone home, Alex watched the rest of the news bulletin that Chris had recorded. After the video footage was something else. An audio tape had been delivered along with the video, presumably recorded some time before.

A child's voice, stumbling a little over the words. 'Globalism is against nature. Capil... capital-ism must end. Kal-ki will teach with his sword. When Vajra comes, the world will learn anew. The world will learn to dance to a new tune.'

'What's all this with children? They are twisted bastards.' Lucas had three kids of his own.

Alex pictured Molly. The child's voice wasn't unlike her daughter's – about the right age, she thought. _Can't think about Molly now_. 'They're not short of nerve, calmly videoing the event right across the road. How come they're so confident? There's an arrogance about all of this which suggests they either believe they won't be caught, or that they don't care if they are. They have no problem recruiting people to do their dirty work, and they have no compunction in killing them afterwards. Quick and brutal, but ritualised, like some kind of sacrifice.'

She leafed through the paper on Jaspan's desk, looking for the notes he'd written on Wednesday. Pulling a notepad from the pile, she leafed through to find the names he'd gathered from his phone calls.

'Right. I need some connections. We've got Brick Lane, the two Bengalis, the Mint, today's explosion, the Valentine letter bombs. Swords, fire, children, Nazis or neo-Nazis, priests, rabbis, Hindu gods, the sun. It's a mess. _Indiana Jones_ meets the _Da Vinci Code_ and _The Eagle has Landed_. We need to make some sense out of all this.'

'What's the Da Vinci Code, Boss?'

'It's nonsense, Chris.'

'Do you want me to research it?'

'No, not for the moment. It'll keep. Hang on, though, you could sue Dan Brown for plagiarism in about twenty-five years time.' She gave Chris her most manic grin, and he had the sense to keep his mouth shut.

She doled out names from Jaspan's list to everyone in the room and sent them out to do some research. 'Think laterally. Ask the librarians to help. Don't rule anything out. I'll see you at Luigi's later, or here in the morning. Good luck.'

xxxxxxxxxxx

Alex was sitting with Carol Watkins at the bar, fielding outrageous compliments from Luigi, when Womble and Jaspan came in.

'Hello, boys. You look knackered. What would you like?' Alex bought them both beers, and the four of them found a table.

'The message on the audio tape was interesting for the mention of anti-globalisation and anti-capitalism.' Jaspan swigged his Pilsner from the bottle. 'That's a key feature of the green Nazi ethos that Harry Haggerty talked about. He's chasing after his suspects at Imperial College, seeing what he can dig up there.'

'Was it a mortar, Womble?'

'Same sort of thing, but we think it's something called a panzerfaust. First used in the war, about 1942. The explosive head is fired from a simple hollow steel tube, and it's easy to make, easy to use and powerful. Designed to blow up tanks. Ths one hit the building a glancing blow – we could tell from the pattern of the debris, and it didn't penetrate far into the building.'

'Interesting, though,' said Jaspan. 'It hit the first floor when those offices were empty – all the senior managers were at the usual Friday meeting.'

'Inside knowledge?'

'Or first class research.'

'Where did it come from?' Carol had her elbows on the table, intrigued.

Womble leaned forward. 'It was fired from the roof of the Dorchester – we found scorch marks and the discarded firing tube. Forensics will tell us more next week.' He polished off his beer and looked to see who else needed a refill.

They sank another round, then Carol pushed back her chair. 'I should head home. Scott will want feeding and is genetically incapable of operating the kitchen equipment.'

Alex caught sight of Womble's face, and thought fast. 'How old's Scott, now, Carol?'

'Fifteen and double attitude. Birthday next week, and then he's old enough to get married. God help the female population.'

'Does he see much of his dad?' Alex knew she was pushing it, but she liked Womble.

'Not for the last couple of years. Tony's in Dubai making lots of money for his new wife to spend. Shame – Scott misses him. Anyway, better go...'

'Which way are you heading?' Womble was on his feet.

'Stoke Newington.'

'I'm heading up to Highbury. Can I give you a lift?'

_Go for it, Womble. Go on, Carol._

Carol's usual wary expression melted into a smile. 'Yes. Yeah, that would be great, thanks.'

They left without a backward glance.

Alex grinned across at Jaspan, who was shaking his head in amused disbelief.

'Well done, Alex. Beautifully handled.'

'Poor Womble. I could see the word _husband_ forming in front of his eyes, and Carol needs a bit of cheering up, so...'

'Which leaves us. You hungry?'

Alex wagged her head uncertainly. 'So-so. I could eat, as they say. You?'

'Starving. Food good here?

'Define good. It's basic, and if you stick to the standards, it's fine. Mrs Luigi gets carried away sometimes. She served up scallops with pineapple rings once.'

'Tinned?'

'Tinned...'

'Did you eat it?'

'Every shred. Luigi would have cried if I'd left any.'

Jaspan chuckled. 'Not exactly the River Café, then.'

Alex gave him a sharp look. 'River Café?'

'Um, er, my favourite place in Rome. Right on the Tiber.'

'Ah. Not the one in Fulham.'

'Er, no...'

'Do you mind if we eat here? The pasta's fine, and I just want to eat something and crawl up to bed.'

'Suits me. You order, then.'

The question hung between them: the River Café wouldn't open for another ten years_. If there's a River Café in Rome, I'll eat Luigi's bow tie._ But this, and the earlier mention of the internet, was pushed to one side, too enormous to broach on a Friday night, with London panicking, Nazis and rogue rabbis on the loose.

So Jaspan talked all evening about his wife and two sons in Manchester, and Alex could talk about Molly for the first time in months. The second bottle of wine made her emotional, and she bade Jaspan a good night before she starting sobbing into her capuccino.

xxxxxxxx

Saturday dawned dirty, black clouds hurling rain at her windows. Alex was in the office by eight, and the team drifted in over the next couple of hours to present the fruits of their papery digging on Friday afternoon. As the scribbled notes were pasted up on the walls of CID, Alex muttered the word _Google_ to herself, not realising Jaspan was right behind her.

'Google?' he blurted out.

'Ten to the power of a hundred, sir.'

'How do you know that, Chris?'

'Read it somewhere, Boss. Has it got something to do with the bombings?'

'Yes, DI Drake, does Google have some relevance here?'

'Sadly not, DI Jaspan. I wish.'

They looked at each other, both knowing there was a serious conversation to be had very soon.

By lunchtime the office walls had been papered in facts. Alex sent the team home, and made coffee for herself and Jaspan. As she handed him a mug of instant, Alex looked him straight in the eye.

'You trained at Hyde.'

'Yup. You?'

'Yup. Then transferred in here. Have you ever actually been to Hyde, Jim?'

'Nope. You?'

'Nope. Not even entirely sure where it is.'

'What year?'

'2008. You?'

'2007.'

A small, charged silence, then they were hugging as though they'd found the only lifebelt in an empty ocean.

'Oh, sorry. Interrupting...' Womble materialised and started to dematerialise, but Alex waved him in.

'Hi, Womble. Don't mind us. We've just discovered we're sort of related.'

'Wow. How amazing.'

Jaspan smiled. 'Amazing is one word for it. You have no idea, Womble. No idea...' He took his coffee and went back to the cryptic clues on the wall.

'Find Highbury OK?'

Womble had the grace to blush. 'Well... when I dropped Carol off she asked me to stay for supper, and we were chatting away – you know – so the evening sort of got away from me.'

The three of them worked on, looking for connections and matching up evidence with research. Cross-eyed and punch-drunk, they quit at six and went their separate ways.

Alex slept like a log for the first time in weeks, waking to a sunny Sunday morning. Resolved on her mission, she had breakfast, showered, dressed and got a pool car from Viv. Twenty minutes later she banged on the door of number thirty seven, Chisenhale Road. Just as she was about to knock again, the door was flung open.

'_Yes_... Oh. What are you doing here, Bolly?'

TBC


	20. Wrongfooted

_Many thanks to Wombledon and Penfold for excellent advice. _

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Gene was glaring at her, apparently furious to be bearded in his den on a Sunday morning. _So much for a loving welcome_. He stood in the doorway, glowering down at her, dishevelled and half-dressed, bare feet on the sandstone step. 'Well, DI Drake? To what do I owe this… pleasure?'

Alex felt his anger like a blow. What on earth had she done wrong? On Thursday, even when she found him gone without a word, she'd been so confident of his – what – love? She'd begun to think so. His care, anyway; desire, apparently... But now, looking up at the forbidding figure, all her confidence vaporised.

She'd woken up feeling so positive. Finding out that Jaspan was another refugee from the future made her feel completely different. It still didn't mean this world was real – she could have invented Jim as easily as she'd invented everything else. But she felt real with him around. The same way she felt real in Gene's arms.

_How could I have invented that feeling?_ The sensations that swept through her when Gene touched her... _I've never felt that way before. All the men I've kissed, and seven years of married life with Jack, had never felt so real._ Alex was beginning to understand why Sam Tyler killed himself. _Anything to get back here, where life was unsafe, unforgiving, uncertain. Where Gene Hunt is. On the edge, where I've never been more alive._

All she wanted, this morning, was to get to Gene. Find out about this project of Dorney's; get through the forcefield of secrecy, reach the man who'd held her on Thursday morning and whispered promises in her ear. Since then she'd pushed aside the doubts, but now they rushed in on her. Why had Gene left on Thursday without explanation? Why the silence ever since? And why was he so angry now?

She shrugged an apology, and backed down the steps. 'I... just wanted to... see you. See if you were OK... But I should have... Sorry...' She turned, her eyes suddenly welling, and couldn't for a moment remember which car was hers, her vision blurred with tears.

'Bolly – wait. Don't...' Gene ran down the steps after her, then realised the front door was closing behind him. 'Oh, shit...' He leapt back up, reaching the door just before it clicked shut. He kicked the mat over the sill to keep the door open, and turned to find Alex getting into a green Cavalier; he reached her as she turned the ignition key, and wrenching open the driver's door, he gestured to her to get out.

'Come on, woman, I'm freezing my arse off here.'

Alex just glared at him.

'I'm going in. You coming, or not? I'll put the kettle on.'

Alex turned the engine off, got out of the car and followed him in, shutting the door behind her. It hadn't been the welcome she'd imagined, but at least he hadn't let her drive away.

'Tea or coffee?' Gene called from the kitchen.

Gene wasn't a coffee drinker and only had the nastiest instant, as she'd discovered a month ago on Valentine's Day. 'Tea, please.'

To Alex's surprise, he'd made a start on the redecorating. Not much, but about fourteen layers of wallpaper and paint on the walls had been ripped off two walls in the kitchen, and the tree outside the window had gone. 'Wow. It's so much lighter.'

'All the better to see how horrible it is in here. Lot to do. Thought I'd make a start since you'd nagged me into it.'

'So is that why you've taken leave?'

'Taken leave of my senses,' he muttered, handing Alex a mug of tea, and picking up his own. 'Want some breakfast?'

'You haven't had breakfast yet? It's past ten.'

'It's Sunday, for god's sake. I'd only just got out of bed when you leant on the bell.' Alex drank in the sight of him. Bare feet, jeans, crumpled black shirt unbuttoned, tousled hair and stubble. _God, I want him so much_. Unthinking, she took a step towards him. 'How about breakfast in bed, then?' She reached for him, put a hand on his chest.

He jerked away from her touch so sharply that tea slopped all over his hand, and he hissed with the scalding heat of it. '_Sssshit_...' He dropped the half-empty mug into the sink and ran his hand under the cold tap, cursing under his breath. Caught between his rejection and her instinct to help, Alex froze for a moment before grabbing a roll of kitchen towel and squatting to mop up the spill.

'Leave it, for god's sake,' Gene snarled at her.

'I'm only...'

'Stop bloody fussing.'

'It's...'

'Just _leave_ it, will you.'

Alex stood up, leaving the soggy wad on the floor, stepped back and collided with the table, the corner catching her hip bone, hard enough to bring tears to her eyes. '_Ow_...' She bit the sound back, but not in time to stop Gene hearing. Leaning on the sink with his head bowed, he turned at the sound; saw Alex backing to the door, well away from him.

'What did you do?'

'Nothing.'

'Did you hurt yourself?'

'No...' Alex made the mistake of meeting his gaze; she had to turn away to stop him seeing the tears.

Gene felt her glance slide through him like a blade through his guts. She never cried. Alex Drake never cried. Not true – she cried for others. Shed tears over the boy Ashley and the children in hospital with petrol burns; cried when the Prices died. But never for herself, not even faced with her own slow death. _What have I done to her?_

When he'd opened the front door and found her there, he'd been completely wrongfooted; he'd heard nothing from her – not even a message, so he'd thought she'd been pissed off with him. _Keeps her away from me; keeps her safe_. And now, he'd reduced her to tears. Couldn't bear to let her go when she'd come to his door, but didn't dare touch her. _I'd never be able to let her go_. So he'd bitten her head off, flung her affection back in her face. _Hurt her._ Could he ever do anything else but hurt her in the end? _Bastard. Bastard_.

Still with her back to him, Alex bent her head and swiped at her eyes. 'Why are you angry with me? What have I done, Gene? I can't think...'

He was suddenly there behind her, wrapping his arms tight round her body, his head against hers.

'I'm not angry with you, Bolls. I'm fucking furious with most of the bastard world, myself more than anything. But not with you. Never with you.'

Alex wiped her eyes again, leaning back against him. 'You're always furious with me. I drive you mad. We can't get through a day without shouting.'

'That's work. It's DI Bollyknickers Smartarse Fruitcake Bolshy Posh-Tart Drake who drives me up the bloody wall.' He put his mouth to her ear and whispered. 'But I quite like it.'

'You once told me you hated me. No, despised me.'

'I've never...'

'Did, though. Called me a clench-arsed bitch, among other things.'

'When?'

'Just before I punched you.' She took his hand, brought it to her mouth, kissed it and laid it against her cheek. 'Did I ever apologise? I'm sorry I hurt you. But that was a harsh thing to say.'

He squeezed her tight. 'Trying to keep my end up.' He kissed her temple. Didn't even work. You nearly flattened me.'

'Never hit anyone before. Never want to hit anyone again.'

'Why did you come up here this morning?'

Alex turned her head as far as she could to see his face. 'I missed you. Why didn't you let me know you had to go on Thursday? Or even speak to me on Friday? I was in the office when you phoned.'

'I wanted to know where you were, that's all.'

'If I was at the station, I wasn't in Park Lane...?'

'Hmmm.' Gene rocked her gently in his arms.

'We've made some progress on all this mess. You know that with you and Ray away Womble and Jaspan are working _chez nous_...'

'Working what?'

Alex smiled to herself. 'With us. They've moved into CID for a while.'

'You're getting very matey with them.'

'Stop it, green eyes. Jaspan's got a family in Manchester, and Womble's smitten with Carol Watkins.'

'With Carol? Since when? Is she showing any interest?'

'Yes. Since Friday. And yes. You jealous?'

'Of Carol? No. Anyway, I don't get jealous.'

'Course not. I've noticed that.' Alex wriggled round to face him, and put her arms round his neck. 'You weren't bothered about young Noel at all, were you?'

Gene pouted, trying to stop the smile in his eyes from reaching his face. 'He put me off my stroke a little, that's all.'

Alex pressed closer to him, stroked his face, her fingers scraping over his stubble. She'd smeared her mascara so she looked like a houri. God, he wanted to drag her upstairs and under the covers for the rest of time.

She bit his chin lightly. 'And you were entirely relaxed about me and Harry.'

In one heartbeat the atmosphere changed. Gene pulled away from her, face cold, closed.

'Gene?'

'Tell me what you've worked out with your chum Jaspan.'

'No – hang on a minute. What's eating you about Harry?'

'Nothing. Couldn't care less.'

'You saw him on Thursday.'

'Did I?'

'Everyone's saying you gave him a kicking.'

'You listen to gossip, do you?

'When you go silent and disappear, yes.'

'Then ask your gossiping cronies to fill you in.'

'Did he hurt you?' Alex put out a hand, touched his arm. There was a tiny silence before Gene pulled his arm away.

'That gobshite ponce?' He snorted.

'What did he say to you?'

'Worried he gave away your secrets?'

'What secrets?'

'I don't know, darling. Perhaps not a secret. More like the truth.'

Alex felt her temper rising. Her voice was quiet as ice. 'Are you suggesting that I've lied to you?'

'I'm not _suggesting_ anything. I'm saying that his account of events differs to yours.'

Alex took a step back, shocked into silence.

'Did you sleep with Haggerty on Monday night?'

They glared at each other for an ice age.

She found her voice. 'I can't believe... If you need to ask, then you don't deserve an answer.'

'What's the matter – can't deny it?'

'Deny _what_?'

'That your little fight on Monday was part of some sex game.'

Alex choked. '_Sex game...?_ My god... you bastards are unbelievable.'

'Was it?'

'_He hit me_. You really think I would go anywhere _near_ a man who hits women?'

There was a deathly silence.

Gene was the first to look away, clearing his throat. _Talk about work. Anything. Cool down_. He walked to the window to give himself a second to think.

'Ray says you think he's got post-traumatic stress wotsit.'

'Yes. He went to pieces when he saw the news of the Park Lane attack. I think it brought back the car bomb and what happened afterwards.'

'From nine years ago?'

'Yes. He didn't dealt with it then, did he? Just soldiered on, like a big brave bloke.'

'Ray Carling is a brave man. He pulled himself together and got on with it. Balls of steel.'

'I don't doubt it. But the problem isn't in his testicles. He shut it away, but it's still there. And now it's resurfaced, and it's worse. So I want to help him deal with it.'

'Good. Finally, your psycho-bollocks is of some use to my team.'

'Anyway – how do you know about it? Did Ray ring you?'

'No. I rang him. He asked me what I thought, and I told him to trust your judgement.'

'Why? You don't.'

'Not true. If you must bloody know, it's my judgement that's the problem. When it comes to you, my instincts are completely fucked.'

'Well, that's true enough. Well spotted, Gene.'

'You're enough to drive a Mormon to drink. Why do you think I don't want to talk to you, when you're so fucking emotional about every pigging thing?

'So you'll ring your sergeant for a chat, but you won't ring your DI. That's just ducky. Cheers, Guv.'

'Ray's a friend...'

'And I'm not?'

'I've known him for a long time.'

'You trust him.'

'Yes. I trust him.'

'Do you want me off the team?'

'No.

'Fine.'

'Do you want to go?'

'No! But I'd rather leave than have to work with a DCI who thinks I'm a liar.'

Gene dropped his head, then looked up at her, a mask of unhappiness. 'I don't.'

'But you don't trust me. You'd take the word of some spiteful, weak, arrogant _wanker_ like Special Bastard Haggerty – because, like you, he's got a penis – rather than take the word of a "twisted, bitter, toffee-nosed bitch" of a woman that you _inconveniently_ want to get into bed.'

'Alex...'

'No, no, DCI Hunt, let's get clear on this right now. If, and it's a big if, we manage to get over this little problem and continue to work together, let's get one thing straight. Any possibility of you and me having any kind of personal relationship is non-existent. No trust, no chance. If we keep it strictly professional, we just might be able to survive the daily grind. Personally, I'm not convinced. So excuse me while I go and try to solve this fucking nightmare before you get back off leave, and then you can sign my transfer application on your first day back.'

'DI Drake, you're on very dangerous ground...' They were both yelling now.

'Not for much longer, with any luck.'

'Luck won't come into it. If you're so keen to go, I'll be delighted to foist you off on to some other poor bastard. As soon as you like.'

'Enjoy your DIY, Gene. I'm sure someone will tell me how it looks when you've finished. Don't invite me to the housewarming party.'

Alex marched to the front door, wrenched it open, and slammed it shut behind her, cutting off the roar from the enraged man she'd left. Her legs were shaking so much that she sat down on the steps rather abruptly, head in hands, angry tears falling. The sound of the door opening galvanised her; she ran down the steps, missing the last and turning her ankle, but hobbling to the car, not able to face Gene again. She drove round the corner, slewed the car into a parking space, and gave way to wracking sobs.

Gene stood on his front steps like a deserted mariner after the storm, full of fury and grief, facing a bleak future as the loneliness flooded back and threatened to drown him.

'Mr Hunt?'

Dr Penfold was standing on the bottom step, looking concerned. _Wondering whether she should call the funny farm, probably_. Gene looked at her and let out a long breath.

The doctor walked up to him, a reassuring smile on her usually stern face. 'I thought it might be a good time to change your dressing. Come on...' She took his arm, drew him back into the house, and closed the door gently behind them.

TBC


	21. Back to the snake pit

_Big thanks to Wombledon for doing without sleep to beta this chapter…_

_xxxxxxxxxxxx_

At five to eight the next morning, Gene was waiting for Brian Cruickshank on the edge of St James's Park; he sat by the war memorial and watched the Household Cavalry going through their drill on Horse Guards Parade. At eight on the dot, a black XJS whispered to a halt in front of him, and Cruickshank emerged from the back seat. The car whispered away again, and Cruickshank stood for a moment watching the cavalrymen in their spectacular uniforms, harness jingling, hooves crisp on the sandy gravel. 'All that power under tight control. Discipline. Trust. Pretty costumes, too.' Cruickshank sighed, and dropped a white paper bag into Gene's lap, handing him a plastic cup of tea.

'Cheers, sir.' Gene bit into a bacon and tomato toastie almost as good as the ones he used to get from Minnie's caff at the bottom of Deansgate. 'That is _lovely_. Best breakfast I've had for a long time. Thanks.'

'I don't want to ruin your appetite, but we need to talk about your charming friends, the Carterets.'

Gene turned his head away, embarrassed. But after a moment, taking a deep breath, he looked back at Cruickshank. 'Indeed, sir.'

'There's no question that they're involved – too many connections. But we need solid evidence – have to pull it all together. Find their recruits; the Halevy boy threw himself into our hands, but there are others. The so-called priests who recruited the children, for instance, and the contacts they used to get hold of explosives. Most of all, we need to know who's behind all this.'

'You don't believe it's Jack Carteret's show?'

'No. He's too unstable. Dragging you in and marking you in such a brutal way – it was showing his hand far too much. Either he grossly underestimated you or he's lost the plot. Or both.'

'An operation like this doesn't come cheap, either.'

'No. And Carteret doesn't have the money, neither does his company. Not according to the books, anyway. Countermeasure is just about washing its face, but not much more. I did wonder, to begin with, whether this was all a sick publicity stunt to kick-start Countermeasure's new sales drive.'

Gene snorted. 'They'd have done as well to send Miranda out prospecting. She's a lot cheaper, and she has a persuasive tongue.'

'So I hear, Gene.'

There was an uncomfortable silence.

'So... what – you want me back in there?'

'Can't see a better way. Can you?'

'Don't want to see them again, except for seeing their faces when the jury sends them down for life.'

'Carteret at least would be a candidate for Broadmoor.'

'Huh.' Gene rubbed his shoulder absentmindedly. 'He's not mad. Twisted, yes, but sane enough to pay for the decisions he's made.

'We don't have enough evidence for a search warrant – unless you tell the judge what happened to you in that house.'

'Even so, no direct connection to the bombings or the Bengalis.'

'Exactly. Can you get back in there?'

'Probably. But Carteret has his own flat in Surrey.'

'I know. We're keeping tabs on it. If you can find something at the Islington house, we can get a warrant for the Sunbury flat.'

'Aren't you being a bit coy, sir? You can put your spooky fingers wherever you like – why do you need search warrants?'

'This has to go through the courts. Public are being scared. Public need to see villains tried and sentenced. We need to go through the motions.'

'So I've got to swim through the shit.' Gene sniffed.

'If you will dive into such dangerous waters, Gene...' Cruickshank gave him a slit-eyed look and got glared at, briefly.

'We'll protect you, Gene. Your, er, personal involvement in this need not be made public.'

'Back scratching, sir?'

'Getting the job done, DCI Hunt. We've got enough to contend with dealing with the IRA – we don't need neo-Nazis and religious fundamentalists fanning the flames as well. There'll be time for them later.'

The two men discussed logistics before they parted, Cruickshank walking back to the Yard, and Gene to his motor, parked in Birdcage Walk.

Driving back through the traffic, Gene thought about Cruickshank. He was young for a Super, and had the mark of Hyde all over him. Spooky bastard by definition, being Special Branch; Hyde-trained made him extra tricky. Likable though, which was a bit worrying. Almost trustworthy.

He nipped over Lambeth Bridge – quicker through Bermondsey and back over Tower Bridge than following the embankment as the Thames wound its way through the city. _Straight. Best way to do things._ Alex's face flashed into his mind. Then Miranda's. _How could I have been such a fool? Have to talk to Alex. Explain. Can't let her leave. We were so close._ He changed gear angrily, gunning the engine and whipping through amber lights.

Gene got hold of Ray on the radio. 'How's the hangover, Raymondo?'

'Haven't got one, Guv.'

'Comes of not drinking. You're going soft, Carling.'

'Guv...'

'Don't get your bra in a twist, you girl. Listen. Is DI Jaspan around?'

Ray snorted. 'Poncey git. Not what I'd called a Mancunian. Reminds me of T...'

'Yeah, yeah – shut up. At least he supports a decent football team. Send him over to the caff on Leman Street in ten minutes.'

'You not coming in, Guv?'

'I'm on leave, remember?'

'But...'

'You're not Billy Goat Gruff, Carling. No buts.'

'DI Drake's driving me mad, Guv...'

'Not interested. She's got enough work to keep her out of your perm. Bugger off, Ray, and do something useful. Not a word, Ray. I bloody mean it.'

Jaspan was at the table furthest from the door when Gene pushed his way in. The boss, a comfortable-looking woman in her early fifties, was by the table almost before Gene had settled himself. 'DCI Hunt, how delightful. And a new recruit to Fenchurch East?' She purred at Jaspan, who grinned at her.

'A visitor from the frozen North, love. Won't be here long, so make the most of him.' Gene looked at Jaspan, fit as a butcher's dog and the sort to attract women of a certain age. 'You'd better watch it, Jaspan. Bridie here will have you for breakfast before you've got your lips round her floury baps.'

Jaspan chuckled and gave Bridie the eye. 'If you can do me a good stiff coffee, Bridie, I'll come every day.'

'Ooh, a live one, Mr Hunt.' Bridie giggled and went back to the kitchen, shouting the order ahead of her.

Gene looked down his nose at the young DI across the table, giving him the stare. Jaspan looked back at him, apparently unfazed.

'To what do I owe the honour, DCI Hunt?'

'You have just given in to a craving for a decent bacon buttie, lad. I am not here. I am on leave, taking my well-earned leisure in a variety of gratifying ways.'

'Understood.'

'I hope so, sonny. For if I hear that word has got around to anyone, anywhere in Scarborough Street, that we have had this conversation, you will be returning to Manchester in several buckets.'

'No worries, Guv.'

'No worries... Hmm. What dialect of the North West is that? Hyde, perhaps?'

'Just common parlance, Guv.'

'Common parlance. Common parlance.' Gene wrapped his mouth around the words, savouring them. 'Very good. Right. Tell me everything you know about these Nazi nutters we're dealing with.'

Jaspan spilled the beans, unlike Bridie who plonked down two plates of them, with a small heap of toast and two fat brown sausages per man. 'Tuck in, gentlemen. We can't have you fading away, can we? Wouldn't be safe in our beds...'

Gene did as bid, taking great mouthfuls of his second breakfast as Jaspan talked. If he had to go back into the snake pit, at least he'd know what to look for.

He rang Miranda from home. He had to beg, but eventually she agreed to see him at Theberton Street that night at eleven.

The Quattro slid silently to a halt in Liverpool Road at quarter to eleven, where Gene could see Miranda's front door, gleaming in the glow of the street lamps. He watched the house for ten minutes, then prowled quietly round the corner to see what he could see of the back of the building. Not much, as it turned out. The garden wall was too high, and all the windows on the top two floors were dark. Nothing for it but to announce himself and keep every sense alert.

Miranda was nervous, trying to keep cool as she opened the door to him.

'What's wrong, my little scorpion?' Gene gripped Miranda's chin and tipped her head back. 'Scared of me?'

'Of you? Hardly.' She leered at him. 'You've been brought to heel, my damaged darling. No, if you must know, I'm a bit nervous of Jack finding out. He wouldn't be impressed if he knew I was seeing you tonight. Not at all…'

'So why did you agree?'

'I wanted to see how you were. I'm very fond of you, my sweet.' Miranda dug her fingernails into Gene's arm as she pulled him through the hall and into the drawing room. 'And you gave satisfaction for a while. You have… assets. Well, one asset.' She giggled and reached for Gene's fly.

He swatted her hand away. 'Oh, no. None of that, _sweetie_. You lost that privilege the last time we met.'

Miranda pouted like a French adolescent. '_Mmm_. My poor baby. Didn't you like our little threesome? I thought Jack tended to your interests rather well. He gives good head, don't you think?' She rubbed herself against Gene, looking up at him, eyes half-closed.

'He does that. He's a sick deviant sadist, but he knows what to do with the crown jewels, credit where it's due. You could take lessons.'

Miranda swiped at him. 'Bastard.'

Gene caught her wrists and with commendable dexterity, handcuffed her. 'Settle down, you viper. You have things to tell me.'

Miranda started shrieking; Gene put a hand over her mouth and the other behind her head, and silenced her. 'You can be quiet and awake, or quiet and asleep. You choose.' Miranda squealed beneath his hand and tried to hit him, eyes blazing fury. Gene cracked her on the jaw with his fist just hard enough to silence her, and dropped her unconscious on to the sofa. No time now to worry about chivalry – a woman who could involve herself in terrorising children had crossed a line to join the rest of the world's scum.

Miranda wouldn't be out for long, so Gene didn't have much time. He looked again at the bookcase – saw the book with Countermeasure's logo on its cover – _The Lightning and the Sun_. Some of the names Jaspan had mentioned that morning – Peronnik, Evola. _Mein Kampf_. He remembered seeing them before, only a week earlier. It seemed like years. There was a shelf full of books about Sir Francis Drake, and more about Walter Raleigh. Separating the two British heroes was a family bible; Gene pulled the big volume down and opened it – folded into the flyleaf was a heavy piece of paper. A family tree, with Miranda's name at the bottom, Francis Drake close to the top, and the name Grenville scattered across the page. _Sir Richard Grenville, Baronet_, was a row above Miranda, to her left – her uncle.

Why did he know the name? He knew that name… His damned memory was still patchy after the concussion he'd taken in this bloody house. Grenville. Grenville. Below his name, and linked to it, was the name _Lucilla_: his daughter. And in pencil, written faintly in the margin, was the name _Raleigh Hereward H_. What did the H stand for? Gene folded the page and stuffed it in his inside pocket.

He was rifling through a tall cupboard when Miranda came to, whimpering. Gene glanced at her and continued searching but the little blonde suddenly started screaming, and Gene dived on her. 'Shut the fuck up, you harpy.' He hesitated to hit her again, and looking for something to gag her, turned… to find Haggerty right behind him. Haggerty drove his fist into Gene's solar plexus and knocked the wind from him; Gene doubled over, gasping for air, and Harry chopped down on the back of his neck, dropping Gene to the floor like a sack of wet sand. Semiconscious and winded, Gene heard a door bang shut, and once again was alone in the house. He was deathly slow. It took him several months to pull himself to his knees, leaning on a chair, and another year or so to heave himself to his feet, barely able to stay upright, dizzy and unable to focus. There was a crash as the front door was kicked open; Graham Clarke and three Branch officers barrelled through the door to find Gene staggering down the hall, bellowing. 'Your fucking sergeant… I'll kill the bastard…'

Clarke grabbed Gene by the shoulders and shook him. 'What are you talking about, Hunt? Where's Miranda Carteret?'

'Sergeant Wanker's taken her. He's in it up to his grinning arsehole…'

'Get him back to Fenchurch East and get the quack to see him. I don't know if he's drunk or concussed but he's making no sense.'

As Gene was bundled out of the door he shouted over his shoulder at Clarke. 'I'm telling you it's Special Bastard Haggerty…'

'You're talking crap, Hunt. I want to know exactly how you let a small skinny bird overpower you and get away. It's going to be a good story, I bet.'

xxxxxxxxxx

Alex had been with Jaspan and Womble at Luigi's, but it was well after midnight and she'd had enough. As she got to the top of the basement steps she saw figures emerging from the station. Gene – with an officer she didn't recognise. They were heading for a squad car as Alex ran across the street. 'Gene? Gene!'

He looked towards her, but said nothing, got into the back of the car and slammed the door before Alex could reach him. The car pulled away, leaving Alex in the road, watching the tail lights vanish round the corner.

xxxxxxxxxx

TBC


	22. Relative values

_Again, Wombledon has been going way beyond beta - sending this chapter back at 3.40 am. The woman's a complete star._

_xxxxxxxxxx_

First thing on Tuesday morning, Alex was on the phone to DCI Clarke. 'Sir – where's DCI Hunt? I saw him leave Fenchurch East last night but he's not at home and...'

'Alex, just calm down. Why are you so fussed? You know he's working with us on something specific.'

'A month ago you forbade me to talk to DCI Hunt about being part of the liaison team. Now I'm not allowed to know what he's doing?'

'Not so. Your DCI was given carte blanche to talk to you about it. If he hasn't done so, then I can't guess at his reasons. Sorry.'

'Where is he now?'

'As far as I know he's at home. He was driven home last night after the doctor cleared him.'

'Doctor? Why? What happened?'

'Nothing much. He had a bit of a run-in with someone...'

'Who?'

'We don't know. He was surprised, and by the time he was on his feet, the attacker had gone. But he's fine. A couple of bruises, that's all.'

'But...'

'Sorry Alex, I've got to go. I'm sure he'll be in touch later this morning. Talk to your Super if you're worried. Bye.'

He hung up, leaving Alex staring at the phone in her hand in disgust. She dropped the receiver back on its cradle and looked across the office. 'Ray? Have you heard from the Guv today?'

'No, Ma'am.'

Alex seethed. Where the fuck was he? Rather than sitting in the office getting ulcers, Alex leapt to her feet. 'Shaz – come on.'

The two women headed to Elder Street and the Sharma house. Savitri, widow of the murdered Harish Sharma, had bags under her blue eyes, and her clothes hung off her. It had been a week since her husband and his friend had been slaughtered; the funeral was over, and the young woman had nothing to do except grieve.

Alex started gently. 'Were your husband and Govinder Dev close friends?'

'Only quite recently. They were both very religious, and believed that Kalki – the New Man – was coming. Kalki is like the Hindu Messiah, the lightning and the sun, who will cleanse the earth. There have been many signs that he will come soon.'

Her words were foreign, but her voice was resonant as crystal, English ruling class diction.

'Does this explain why your husband and Dr Dev threw the firebomb into the schoolyard?'

'I can't believe they would do that. Govinder's daughter was there, for heaven's sake.'

'For heaven's sake indeed, Mrs Sharma.'

A flush spread over the widow's fair-skinned English face. 'My husband was a highly intelligent, deep-thinking man. He was not a thug. Why would he attack a school full of Bengali children? It makes no sense.'

'No sense to you, perhaps.' Alex's voice was icy; she was thinking of the children in hospital with third-degree burns. 'Your husband's death had the hallmarks of an execution. I'm sorry to tell you this if you don't already know. He and Dr Dev had a swastika symbol cut into their backs after they died.'

Mrs Sharma's head dropped, and she nodded. 'The man who came here before – a tall man with a Northern accent...'

'DCI Hunt.'

'I think so, yes. He told us then.'

'Do you know why it was done?'

'I know about swastikas – they are part of the Hindu tradition, a symbol of fertility. Hitler took it and made it something else. I don't know. I don't understand any of it.'

Shaz leant forward. 'Mrs Sharma, can you think of anyone who'd want your husband and his friend dead?'

'Apart from my father, you mean?' The young widow sounded bitter.

'Why do you say that?'

'Why do you think? My father is a white Anglo-Saxon Protestant, and didn't approve of his precious daughter marrying a brown-skinned Hindu, no matter how well educated, no matter that he was Brahmin with royal ancestors. As far as my father is concerned Harish was a wog, and that was that.'

'What is your father's name?'

'Sir Richard Grenville. Eleventh baronet. There was a Captain Richard Grenville who sailed with Drake against the Armada. They were cousins. Sir Walter Raleigh was another.' She came to a halt, staring at the wall.

'Do you think your father hated your husband enough to kill him?'

The blonde girl looked across at Alex, frowning. 'Of course not. He would never have invited Harish to his club, and I dare say he wept no tears at the news that Harish was dead, but my father wouldn't kill anyone.'

'We'll need to talk to your father. What's his address?'

'Drake House, Flood Street, SW3.'

Shaz piped up. 'That's funny, Ma'am. You're not related, are you?'

'No, Shaz.' Alex explained to Mrs Sharma. 'My ex-husband is called Robert Drake, but I doubt there's even the remotest connection. Do you have any other family?'

'Only my half-brother Hereward. He never lived with us – my father had an affair before I was born, and Harry was the result.'

'Hereward Grenville?'

'No. He was formally adopted by his stepfather. My brother's full name is Raleigh Hereward Haggerty... Harry Haggerty.'

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

On the short drive back to Scarborough Street, Alex was silent. She'd snapped at Shaz when the girl started wittering on about Harry. She'd introduced him to Alex, after all, so she had every right to be shocked, but Alex was in no mood to discuss it.

As they walked past the front desk, Viv waved a bit of paper at Alex. 'Message for you, Ma'am.'

'Who from, Viv?'

'DCI Hunt, Ma'am.'

Alex snatched the message and read it greedily.

'_Need to talk to you. Luigi's, soon as. G.'_

'Shaz – write up the notes, but say nothing to anyone for now about Haggerty. Wait for me, OK?'

'Yes, Ma'am. I promise.'

xxxxxxxxxxx

The bar was deserted apart from Luigi behind the bar, and Gene, hunched over a table underneath the image of Sofia Loren, cigarette between his fingers, staring at the empty whisky glass in front of him. He looked up at the sound of Alex's heels on the tiled floor, and for a moment he looked like a man reprieved.

'Well done, Bolls. Only took you an hour.'

'Er, excuse me, _sir_... I've been with Savitri Sh...'

'It can wait. I've got something to tell you.'

'Where the hell have you been, anyway? Are you all right? I've been trying to get hold of...'

'Shut up, Bolls.' Gene's voice was softer than his words, and he took Alex's hand. 'This is hard enough. Don't need you nagging me.' He pulled her down into the chair beside him. Listen...'

But Alex wasn't to be baulked of her news. 'Gene, hang on a minute. I've got to t...'

Gene stopped her mouth with his own, one hand behind her head, holding her still so he could kiss her into silence. But what began as an impulse became a remedy for the miserable days since their bitter row, and they lost themselves in kisses of intense sweetness until Luigi dropped a bottle of grappa which exploded soggily, prompting a stream of Veronese curses. Gene and Alex flew apart, yanked back into Tuesday.

'_Luigi!_ Would you stop bloody fossicking about and bring us a bottle of your finest cough medicine, toot-sweet.'

'Please...' Alex added with a smile, kicking Gene's foot beneath the table.

'Yeah, yeah, por favor.' Gene muttered as he kicked Alex back.

The forgiving soul bustled across to them with a bottle of Barolo and two glasses wrapped in his biggest smile. 'Ah, _signorina... signor_... how wonderful to see you together...'

'Si, si, Luigi, gracias, amigo. Now go away and break another bottle out of sight somewhere, there's a good hombre.' Gene took the bottle from him and waved him away, then poured Alex a full glass. 'Get those luscious lips round that...' Gene faltered, his mind conjuring images of Alex's lips employed on his own body.

'_Santé_.' Alex raised her glass to him, looking at him through her lashes as she sipped her wine.

'Stop that, Bolly. I'll have to do you for attempting to bribe a police officer.'

Alex chuckled, holding Gene's silver gaze until she blushed under the heat of it.

His lips twitched, and he squeezed her free hand.

'Listen, love. Let me tell you what I've got to tell you. What's been going on. Just listen. Don't say anything.' Gene was suddenly serious. _There's so much explaining to do; and I can't tell her everything, not yet. Maybe not ever._ He heaved a huge sigh, and looked so weighed down that Alex picked up his hand and kissed it, stroked the back of his hand against her cheek, smiling reassurance at him. He loved her for that, how she could be so seductive, then so sweet, changing moods in a heartbeat, sensing what he needed. Gene reached over and kissed her quickly, roughly. '_Alex_...'

He took a breath, and pulled his hand away from hers, folding his arms and leaning on the table, businesslike. 'OK. Miranda Carteret and her husband Jack are in this up to their lying teeth.'

Alex drew a breath, but said nothing, gritting her teeth in the effort to stay silent. Gene waited till she was ready.

'I found all kinds of books and crap – crucifixes and whips and stuff about Hitler. They're sick religious fanatics with Nazi politics. At least Carteret is. Miranda's got her own little game going on, but she's terrified of her bastard husband. They must be running these bomb hoax shenanigans through Countermeasure... Oh, and this is good. For the company logo they've used the drawing from a weird book called _The Lightning and the Sun_ by some Indian bloke.'

'Savitri Devi. Woman.'

'Yeah. Her. Anyway – it all ties in with the bomb warnings. Anyway, this is the best bit: last night I went back there.'

Alex shifted, longing to interrupt. Gene pinned her with a stare.

'Cruickshank didn't give me much option. He needed evidence before he could get search warrants. But I sorted that last night. Found a family tree. Miranda is the cousin of that Sharma woman, the one who changed her name. Used to live in Flood Street.'

Alex couldn't keep quiet any longer. '_Miranda_ is Lucilla's cousin? I don't believe it! Gene – that's what I had to tell you. I've just found out who Lucilla's half-brother is.'

Gene made impatient faces at her. 'Well, who?'

Alex sat back triumphantly, savouring the moment. 'Hereward… Haggerty.'

Gene took a moment to absorb it, his face unreadable. He nodded sharply, and sniffed, getting to his feet and pacing between the tables. 'Special Bastard Haggerty. That explains a lot, Bolls. Explains nearly everything. More than they think. Oh, that's just bloody _fabulous_.'

Alex had a sudden brainwave. 'He's the one who whacked you last night, wasn't he? Clarke wouldn't tell me – said you couldn't identify him.'

'Defective Chief Idiot Clarke didn't believe me. I told him it was Dickshit Haggerty but he thought I was talking bollocks. Didn't think his precious biker boy could be a bad apple.'

Gene stopped still and grinned at Alex. 'We've both been had, Bollyknickers. Done up like kippers in a Nazi honey trap. Un-bloody-believable.' He shouted with laughter, his head thrown back. 'Come here, love.' He held his arms out to her and she reached for him, taking his hands and allowing him to pull her close, their heads together, hearts racing, arms holding the world at bay.

'Gene… _Gene_. Is it over, then? Are we free of them?' She tipped her head back to look at him, tears in her eyes, desperate for an end to the waiting.

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

_TBC_


	23. The tide turns

_As ever, Wombledon has done a brilliantly fast beta turnround, for which many thanks. Do please leave a review, even if a few words. Hugely appreciated._

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

Before Gene could answer her, Chris came hurtling through the door, calling for Alex. 'Boss? Oh... Guv – didn't know you were here too.' Apparently not noticing that his senior officers had been wrapped round each other, Chris blundered on. 'DCI Clarke's waiting for you, Ma'am.'

'Oh, is he now.' Gene turned on his heel and pushed past Chris, heading for the stairs, with Alex and Chris in tow. Pushing through the doors to CID, Gene saw Clarke sitting in his office, feet on his desk. Taking centre stage beneath the chequerboard ceiling, ignoring his visitor, DCI Gene Hunt called his team to order. 'Right, you turnips. Some of us have been busy, unlike you prize vegetables. We have a nest of nasty bitey spiders at the centre of this little web; name of Grenville. DI Drake and I are going to call on the head of the family and you, DS Carling, along with Detective Constables Skelton and Duffy, will kindly invite his bastard son to a little tea party here with us at Fenchurch East. The illegitimate offspring's name...' Gene declaimed in ringing tones like a Drury Lane thespian, '... is Raleigh Hereward Haggerty. Alias Detective Sergeant Harry Haggerty of the Special Branch.'

At the mention of Haggerty's name, Clarke leapt from Gene's chair and jinked round the desk, pulling open the door and marching up behind Gene, to a chorus of shocked whispers from those who knew about Alex's friendship with Harry.

Gene had hardly drawn breath. 'Meanwhile DCI Clarke's team of whizzkids will be rounding up DS Haggerty's cousins Miranda and Jack Carteret... Oh, DCI Clarke! There you are.' Gene had rather theatrically discovered Clarke standing at his shoulder. 'Good-oh. What jolly luck.'

'A word, please, Hunt.' Clarke was icy.

Gene smiled benevolently down at him, and marched into his office, bellowing instructions. 'Fetch DCI Clarke a cup of tea, somebody. And biscuits. Show our visitor some courtesy.'

He took his throne and looked over at Clarke, standing at the door. 'So, Graham...'

It was a short conversation, after which Clarke left, and the team scattered.

The Quattro flashed from Tower Hill to Flood Street at warp speed and slid into a parking space right outside Drake House – a bow-fronted 19th century edifice facing east. Sir Richard Grenville, they were informed by the housekeeper, was not at home; but at Gene's insistence his PA was summoned. A sweet-looking red-head of about nineteen, she was a dragon in maiden's clothing, and wasn't easily moved.

'I'm sorry, DCI Hunt, but Sir Richard is lunching with a member of the Cabinet and cannot be disturbed under any circumstances.'

'These aren't just any circumstances, love. It's a murder enquiry.' Gene was not in the mood for subtlety.

Alex took over; her crisp vowels and soft tone seemed to carry more weight with the titian-haired dragon. 'Such a senior member of the government will be concerned with the current threat to London, so I'm quite certain that Sir Richard's lunch companion will understand his need to help us with our enquiries.' Alex gave her a charming smile, and the three stood silently, waiting to see who would crack first.

The dragon sighed, recognising two immovable objects. 'They are lunching at Ménage à Trois, in Beauchamp Place. You will be discreet, won't you?' The last remark was aimed at Alex, one privately-educated woman looking to another for understanding. Alex smiled, and left, with Gene on her heels; it took them a couple of minutes to nip round to Beauchamp Place. Before Gene opened the car door, Alex put a hand on his thigh.

'Let me do this, Gene. You'd be a bit conspicuous in there.' Alex nodded at the fashionable restaurant.

'You trying to spoil my fun, Bolly?'

'No, Guv, but he'll be more amenable to, um, a posh tart than a...'

'...silver-tongued man about town?'

'Well put, DCI Hunt.'

They smiled into one another's eyes, and Gene touched Alex's hand for a moment. 'Come on then, Bollinger Knickers. I shall wait by the door in case he doth protest too much.'

The radio buzzed, and Gene snatched it up. 'Hunt? Where are you?' It was Dorney's voice.

'Beauchamp Place, sir.'

'Have you seen Sir Richard Grenville?'

'Not yet, sir.'

'Well, don't. You are not to approach him, do I make myself clear?'

'No, sir. I don't understand you.'

'Oh, I think you do. You and DI Drake are to drive back to Fenchurch East immediately. Come straight to my office. If I don't see you here in fifteen minutes your stubborn Northern neck will be for the chop. Do you understand that?'

'Fifteen minutes, sir? From Beauchamp Place, sir?'

'Don't be cute, Gene. Fifteen minutes.' The radio hissed, and Dorney was gone.

'Who managed that, Bolls? Grenville's totty, or DCI Clarke?' Gene gunned the Audi engine as they sped down to the Embankment and turned left.

They were in Scarborough Street in fourteen minutes, and Gene was then kept waiting outside the Super's office for twelve.

'I've had the Commissioner's henchman on the phone complaining about – and I quote – "a Northern flatfoot stamping all over some highly-placed toes". Sir Richard Grenville has influential friends, Gene, and they appear to be eager that he is not upset.'

'He's above the law, is he, sir?'

'He's on first name terms with it, Hunt: a crony of the Lord Chancellor, and shoots with the Home Secretary.'

'Still doesn't make him immune.'

'No. But you're not the man for the job, Gene. This monkey needs a very subtle approach.'

'Softly, softly, eh, sir? Well, let's call in Superintendent Barlow and his Task Force, shall we?'

'Who? Barlow? No. Superintendent Cruickshank will talk to Grenville, so he needs you to bring him up to date. He'll pick you up outside Westminster tube station at 2.30pm. Leave that car of yours here.'

Gene submitted himself to the care of London Underground, and on schedule the black XJS glided to a halt opposite Big Ben. The back door opened, Gene got in, and the car purred over Westminster Bridge. By the time they'd driven the scenic way round the block and the car had stopped to disgorge Gene in Parliament Square, he had brought Cruickshank up to date about Haggerty, the Carterets, Sharma's widow, and the connections with the Brick Lane firebomb.

CID was buzzing when Gene got back to Fenchurch East. Ray and his sidekicks were back empty handed – no sign of Haggerty at his Camden flat, and he'd not been at work since the previous day. Alex had gone to meet the liaison team at Bishopsgate to go through the evidence from Countermeasure's City offices with a fine-toothed comb. Clarke's team had searched Jack Carteret's flat in Sunbury but had found little of interest; someone had been watching since Monday morning, but Carteret hadn't been near the place.

No sign of him at his company offices, either; Clarke had waiting for the best part of two days to go in and search, hoping that one of the Carterets would make an appearance. But despite twenty-four hour surveillance, there'd been no sign; so he'd sent the team in to collect files, computers, address books, ledgers and bank statements – now the Bishopsgate CID office was stuffed with boxes and boxes of Countermeasure stuff – there was days of work there, and they were at it till past midnight. Alex crawled back to her flat and dropped into bed, not noticing the answerphone light blinking to tell her she had messages.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Groggy after a heavy sleep, Alex only saw the message light as she came out of the shower; with a mug of coffee in her hand, she played the messages back. The first was blank, as though the caller had thought better of it; the second was Gene. 'Give me a ring at home, Bolly.' There was a long pause. 'Sorry about Sunday. Said some daft bollocks. Don't want you to leave, Bolls.' Another pause, then he'd hung up.

What the hell did that mean? No point guessing. She had to talk to him, find out what he really felt, what he wanted; show him what he had come to mean to her. But she needed time, needed to have him to herself for long enough to break through his defences: toughened steel lined with Kevlar. With a sudden overwhelming longing, Alex prayed for Gene to crash up the stairs and pound on her front door, demanding to be let in. She picked up the phone to ring him, but stopped after the first three numbers. What was the point? If he came over, they'd have no peace. Clarke would be on the phone; Chris scratching at the door, the world and his bloody wife after them. No peace. When would they get time to themselves? Would they ever be allowed to find out if they had a chance? Alex looked out of the window at the grey concrete monolith of the station over the road and wondered if he was there.

Gene had been in since seven, but had found it almost impossible to concentrate. His tea gone cold, toast uneaten, all he could do was think of Alex in bed across the way, longing to go over and kiss her awake, lock the door, climb into bed with her and stay there till the crack of Doom. Never have to tell her about his scar, about Miranda, about the darkness she'd let loose in him. _'You really think I would go anywhere near a man who hits women?'_ He'd replayed it over and over, Alex yelling at him, condemning him without knowing it, stabbing a pin in the fragile bubble of his future, the future he dreamed of with her. She would find out; if Gene didn't tell her, somebody would. Haggerty, or Carteret – he couldn't stop them, even if they went down for life, there was nothing to stop them getting word out; a letter to Alex, a whisper to the press, prison gossip. Gene had too many enemies who would have hard-ons at such juicy news. He'd have to tell her himself, and soon, even though it meant having to see the revulsion in her eyes, have to live with her final rejection. At least if he told her, she'd hear his side of it. God knows what she'd hear otherwise. If he was lucky, she'd stay on the team, at least. He could live with that. Tonight. I'll tell her tonight. Have a quick drink at Luigi's, then go up, bite the bullet. He heaved a sigh and took a swig of tea, grimacing when he realised it was cold. 'Ugh, god. Granger!'

Shaz's head appeared at the door. 'Yes, Guv?'

'Make me another cup of tea, would you? And where's Ray?'

'Not in yet, Guv. It's only just gone eight.'

'Send him straight in to me when he condescends to grace us with his presence.'

'Yes, Guv.'

Shaz vanished tea-wards, as Gene's phone rang.

'Hunt.'

It was one of the girls in Dispatch. 'Body's been found at St John's Wharf, Guv. Wapping High Street.'

Gene listened to the details, then gathered what troops he could find. 'Lucas, Chris, go down there, but wait for me by Wapping Old Stairs. Do not go any closer till I get there. I don't like the smell of this. I'll roust DI Drake out of her slumbers and...'

On cue, Alex pushed through the doors.

'Cancel that. Drake, you're with me. Lucas – keep right on my tail. Granger – when Rumpelstiltskin arrives, tell him to get his sleepy arse down to St John's Wharf without stopping for tea and a fag. Tell him to keep his eyes and ears open. And tell the quack and forensics to stand by. Understood?'

A chorus of Yes, Guvs, and a flurry of movement as Gene led the way.

xxxxxxxxxx

Wapping High Street was quiet, as it always was these days. The ships were long gone, and the warehouses empty – all but a few. There was a lorry unloading sacks of something at Gun Wharves, and a white Porsche parked outside the gates to Hermitage Dock. Gene's lip curled. Property developer sniffing round, the greedy bastard. One or two of the better-preserved buildings upriver were already in the process of conversion, being turned into twee and expensive bolt holes for Big Swinging Dicks in the City. Mrs Thatcher's world of opportunity.

Gene got out of the Audi and signalled to Chris and Lucas to take a look round the other side of the building. Alex was already sneaking up the steps to the right of the warehouse – the body had been sighted on the wharf, lying on the planking jutting over the water. Gene's hackles were up – his instincts told him there was something wrong with this, but it all seemed quiet enough. He ran after Alex and caught up with her as she got to the edge of the wharf.

'There's a boat tied up, Gene, look.'

'No body.'

'Can't see anyone, no.'

'I mean, no dead body. Where we were told a dead body would be. We've walked right into a trap, Bolly. Come on, let's get out of here. _Lucas! Chris!_' he bellowed, pulling his revolver from its holster as he ran back to the steps, Alex on his heels. As he reached the corner, a figure stepped out from the lee of the building, and brought Gene up short, a gun in his face.

'Drop the gun, Cunt.' It was Haggerty.

'Drop yours, Dick Shit,' he hissed, pushing the barrel of his gun into Haggerty's chest, then shouted. '_Lucas!_'

'Your two terriers are having a nice nap. And Major Carteret has a shiny new Smith & Wesson held at my darling Alex's head. It makes a charming little vignette. Throw your gun away, and you can turn round and look. You can say goodbye to her before she comes for a little holiday with us.'

Gene snarled murder at Haggerty, but flung his gun away so it landed on the pavement and skidded into the gutter behind the Quattro. Haggerty punched Gene's right shoulder spitefully, and shoved him round towards the river.

Alex was standing in Jack Carteret's grip, his left arm tight round her neck and his left hand over her mouth, pulling her tight against him. His right hand held a gun to her head. Her eyes were wide with rage and fear, and she was shouting against Carteret's hand, a wordless scream of alarm.

Gene took a swift step backwards, barging into Haggerty and knocking him off balance. The gun went off, and Alex screamed as the two men wrestled for control, staggering across the uneven planking. Carteret was yelling as Alex struggled, and he clouted her on the head just hard enough to stun; her legs buckled, but Carteret was more than strong enough to hold her up. He yelled obscenities as Gene's fist connected and Haggerty sagged to his knees, letting the gun drop. Gene snatched up the pistol, kicked Haggerty so he fell on his face, and aimed the gun at Carteret. 'Let her go. Now.'

Carteret laughed. 'I don't think so, dear. Miranda is so looking forward to meeting her again. I couldn't disappoint her. Put the gun down, Gene, there's a love, or this pretty creature won't see the morning out.'

'You've got nowhere to go, Carteret. You're old news. But no-one's been hurt. Don't make it worse for yourself. Harm DI Drake and...'

'Oh, we're not done yet, Gene. We've only been playing so far. I don't care if your DI lives or dies. One dead bubble-head isn't going to bother us, not with what we've got planned.'

_Keep him talking. Ray, where the fuck are you?_ 'Another bomb? You've been clever so far, lots of noise and dust but no real damage. What are you after? Money?'

Carteret chuckled. 'For a fairly intelligent man you are so naive. But I mustn't keep you, sweetie. We all have things to do.' He began to back towards the edge of the wharf, dragging Alex with him. There was a noise to Gene's left, and he turned his head quickly to see Haggerty slipping over the edge and down to the water, the high tide only three feet below. Gene fired twice, but hit nothing but timber. He ran to the edge and fired again, but Haggerty had gunned the motor of the Avon inflatable, the tiller hard over, so the little boat skidded sideways, the bullet hissing through the water inches from the hull. Gene was about to fire again, but Carteret fired into the planking at Gene's feet. 'I can kill you or your DI in a heartbeat, Gene, so I wouldn't try that again.'

Haggerty was yelling at Carteret. 'Jack – _come on._..'

Alex was coming to, thrashing in her captor's grip, shrieking and trying to kick him. Carteret pushed her off the edge into the boat, and jumped down after her, but in the second she was free, Alex threw herself into the roiling water and disappeared under the surface.

'_Go! Forget her! Go!_' Carteret screamed at Haggerty, and the boat roared away from the wharf, out into mid-river.

Gene was yelling for Alex, ripping off his heavy coat. Just as he dived into the water she surfaced, and they struggled the few yards to the pilings supporting the wharf, clutching at the slippery, weed-covered timbers and clinging to them in the dragging current, the tide just turned and racing to the sea, tugging at their bodies.

Choking and spluttering, Alex felt the laughter rising, and she looked at Gene, wrapped round the next piling. 'We'll be in hot water for this,' she giggled. 'Right up to our necks...'

'Alex – you OK?'

She nodded, her eyes gleaming. 'You?'

'Bit wet. May I join you? I'm coming across to your place for cocktails. Ready?'

He judged the distance and positioned himself, then let go of the piling and allowed the current to carry him the ten feet to Alex's roost. She reached one arm out to grab him, and he wrapped one arm and both legs round the piling, and the other arm round her, aiming kisses at any part of her he could reach. 'Daft bint. Why didn't you keep your eyes open? You could have got me killed...' He kissed her lips. 'You've never tasted better, Bolly.'

'Could we maybe do this on land, or are you hoping to turn me into a mermaid?'

'_Mmmm_...' Gene growled, his eyes glittering. 'Nice bit of tail...' He shifted, putting his arm round her middle and getting a firm grip on the waistband of her jeans. Now, Bolls. I've got you. Can you reach up?' He gave her boost, and Alex made a grab for the edge of the wharf.

'Got it!'

'Bend your knee and I can give you a leg up...'

They struggled and heaved, then Alex was whisked upwards out of his grasp. Second later the anxious face of DS Carling peered over the edge. 'Guv! Give me your hand.'

'Oh, Raymondo... how forward you are! We haven't been properly introduced. Where've you been, you bastard? Hibernation's over, you grizzly article.' He slapped a hand into Ray's outstretched palm and with many curses, heaved himself out of the water and lay on the planking groaning like a sea lion.

Alex bent over him like a biologist examining a rare specimen. 'Are you taking a holiday, Gene, or are you planning on doing something productive today?'

Gene struggled to his feet, muttering to himself.

'What was that, Guv?'

'I _said_, bloody women. And then I said, useless bastards, sack the lot of them.' He glared at his dripping DI and then at the entirely dry DS beside her. 'See the other two idiots on your way?'

'Found them in a skip, Guv.'

Alex collapsed in giggles, and despite his best efforts to look derisive, Gene snorted with laughter. 'Hope you got photos. Come on,' he said, noticing Alex shuddering with cold. 'Let's get you back, Betty Grable.'

Gene sent Alex straight up to her flat for a hot shower and warm clothes, then ordered up a police doctor from Carol on the way past the front desk. Doc Stock appeared minutes later and had a look at Lucas and Chris.

'They've been completely silent since the incident, Doc, and I did see some stray cats around, so perhaps you'd have a look and see if their tongues are still in place.'

The pair seemed to have suffered little more than acute embarrassment and a few bruises from their stay in the skip, and once they'd shuffled off to be fussed over by Shaz, Gene submitted himself to an examination and a tetanus injection. By the time he was dismissed, Alex was back, clean and dry, with her hair pinned up in a knot. She handed Gene the key to her flat without a word, and he disappeared, leaving Alex to the attentions of the doctor and his needles.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Gene was gone for over an hour, returning dressed in his green shirt and jeans that he'd found at the back of Alex's wardrobe. His feet, sockless, were squelching in sodden shoes. 'Shaz? See if you can find me a dry pair in lost property. Size ten. Best you can do.'

'Yes, Guv.' She grinned at him, quite impressed with the dress-down look, and scooted off on her shoe mission as the phone rang on Alex's desk, with a summons to see the Super. With no time to speak to Gene first, Alex headed upstairs to Dorney's office and was ushered straight in.

'Ah, Alex - come and sit down. No ill effects from your swim?'

'No sir, thanks. You've heard about it already?'

'A good story travels fast, DI Drake. Now. I've a job for you.'

'Sir?'

'I want you to go to Munich to interview some people who know all about the Oktoberfest bombings and Operation Gladio. DI Jaspan will go with you, and I've already briefed him, so he has all the details.'

'OK, sir. Thank you. Sounds interesting. When do we go?'

'Five o'clock flight from Gatwick.'

'This afternoon?'

'Yes, why? Anything to keep you here?'

'Er... no, sir.'

'Good. You're provisionally booked to come back on the midday flight on Saturday, so you'll only need to pack for a couple of days. As I say, Jaspan has all the details. I'll see you on Saturday for a de-brief. Thank you, Alex. Good luck.'

xxxxxxxxxxxx

'Guv, could I have a word?'

'If you must, Bolly. I have a lot of important things to do, as you can see.'

Gene was lounging, his bare feet on the desk, glass in hand. 'Pour yourself a dram, Drake. Best thing to kill all the bugs you swallowed this morning.'

Alex helped herself to a finger of whisky, and they clinked glasses before she drank. Gene looked at her, eyebrows raised, waiting for her to speak.

'Why have you got Dorney to pack me off to Germany?'

'What makes you think I'd give you a plum trip to Bavaria?'

'You want me out of the way.'

Shaz knocked and came in, carrying shoes. The beige loafers seemed to pass muster, and Gene took them with a nod of thanks. Once the door was closed behind Shaz, Gene answered the accusation. 'Somebody has to go and talk to the Krauts, and Cruickshank suggested you and your mate Jaspan. I thought you'd enjoy a juicy German sausage washed down with some nice Black Tower. Just your thing.'

Alex gave him a look.

He sighed. 'Look, Bolls, Carteret tried to snatch you this morning, and you heard him say he doesn't care if you live or die. He will probably try again, which will mean wasted time, effort and grey hairs spent on keeping you safe or, worse, trying to get you rescued. Or doing the paperwork when he kills you. So yes, we want you out of the way for a bit.'

Alex began to protest. Gene held up a hand. 'Don't squawk at me. I don't need you being brave, I need you being useful. And you will be more useful in Germany than here for the next couple of days. Dorney and Cruickshank both agree.' He looked at the clock, and stood up, ignoring the mutinous expression on Alex's face. 'Come on, Bolls, I'll help you pack, and then we'll just have time for lunch before you vamoose to the Vaterland.'

'I don't need help to pack, Gene.'

'Oh, yes you do, Bolly. You have absolutely no dress sense.'

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

'You go on up and get packing. I'll get lunch.'

'I'm not really hungry, Gene.'

'You will be. Long time to supper. Do as you're told for once, woman.'

Ten minutes later, Gene was at Alex's door with a fat parcel of food and a bottle of Sangiovese. They ate standing up in the kitchen, making chunky sandwiches of mortadella, green olives, and slices of avocado, mozzarella and tomato. 'Bloody health food,' muttered Gene, wolfing down his sandwich and stealing a bite of Alex's when she wasn't looking.

'So good... thanks. I didn't realise I was so hungry. Mmmm.' She took a swig of wine, then scrunched up the greaseproof paper wrappings and slung them in the bin. 'Right. I'm almost packed.'

'Not before I've inspected your travelling wardrobe. Don't want you making a fool of yourself in front of the Krauts, now do we?'

Alex looked at him, dumfounded. 'Since when did you take on the supervision of my wardrobe? A man who wears ties like...' Gene wasn't wearing one, having discarded his weed-strewn tie in her bathroom earlier '...like your ties, has no claim to good taste, so butt out, buster.'

'That is rank insubordination, up with which I will not put. I'm giving you a direct order, Drake – show me what you are planning to wear on foreign soil. You are representing your colleagues at Fenchurch East, indeed the whole of the Met, and I need to be satisfied...' He paused, swallowed, took a deep breath, '...before I can let you go.'

Alex had been standing, arms folded, a look of utter scepticism on her face, as Gene made this speech. She waited for another second or two after he'd finished, then unfolded her arms, and marched into her bedroom, with Gene following like a sheep in wolf's clothing. 'Very well, _sir_,' she said over her shoulder. 'You come and demonstrate your expert views on couture. You sit there, _sir_, and we'll have a little fashion show just for you.'

Gene sat back and settled down to watch. Alex pulled all the clothes out of the holdall she was taking, and dumped them on the bed. She picked out a handful of items and waved them at Gene. 'Knickers.'

'Can I see?'

'No.' She dropped them back in the holdall.

'Spoilsport.'

'Perv.'

'God's in the detail.'

Alex lifted and dropped a succession of small items. 'Bras, stockings, socks. Suspender belt.' She glanced at Gene. He crossed his legs. Alex allowed herself a triumphant little smile.

'T-shirts, nightshirt; camisole. Trousers. Belt. Shoes.' She stopped and gave Gene a stare. 'All right so far, _sir_?'

'Carry on, Matron.'

'Dress...'

'Not so fast. Let's have a look.'

Alex held the dress up against her. 'Grey wool. Prim, inoffensive.'

Gene shifted on the chair. 'I never did actually stamp your arse, did I?'

'No. So I'm not your property, DCI Hunt. I think you sometimes forget that.'

'_That_ is seared on my memory, Bollykecks. Carry on.'

'Evening dress.' She waved the ankle-length peacock blue silk she'd worn to the Burns Night dinner. The night Gene had told her she looked beautiful. A glance told her he remembered, too.

'What on earth do you need that for?'

'In case we are taken out for dinner somewhere that requires it.'

'Hmph.'

'It folds down to nothing, looks fine in any context, and is easy to wear.'

'Easy on the eye, too. Don't want to impress them too much, Bolly. Don't want Hun hands wandering where they shouldn't. No annexation of Crown property.'

'War's over, Gene. We're all friends in Europe, now.'

'Don't be silly, Bolls. Never trust those bastards.'

'That's your problem, Gene. You don't know who your real friends are.' Alex was shocked at how bitter that sounded. Gene had gone white. She dropped the dress and went to him, sat on the bed and reached across to put a hand on his knee. 'I'm sorry. It was only meant as a joke...'

'But it's not, is it, Alex? It's not...' Gene got up and wandered towards the bedroom door and spoke without looking at her. 'I'll ring you when Jaspan turns up. Ray can drive you over to the Yard. Cruickshank wants to see you both before you leave.'

Alex went after him, grabbed his arm and pulled round to face her. 'Gene, please don't go. Why do you always do this? You're not afraid of anything. Not even Luigi's seafood...' She smiled, tugged at his arm as if to tug an answering smile from him. He could barely look at her. 'Stay. Talk to me. Gene, _please_.'

He looked at her then. 'I don't know what to say to you, Alex. There's things I want to tell you, things I've _got_ to tell you, but I don't know how. I just keep saying the wrong thing.'

Alex put her arms round his neck and snuggled into him. 'You don't need words, Gene.' She trailed little kisses along his jaw line, then paused and looked at him. 'Get the idea?'

Gene hesitated, then put his arms round her. 'Not quite. Tell me again.'

She kissed his chin, then bit it gently, making the breath hiss through his teeth. She kissed his lips, as light as a falling leaf, then brought her hands up to cup his face, and looked into his eyes, asking the question again, silently. He gazed at her, as though wondering where she came from; then he pulled her tight against him, kissing her forehead and resting his head against hers, murmuring into her ear. 'Good language, this, Bolls. Easier to make myself understood.'

He hugged her so tight she could hardly breathe, then pulled back a little to look at her, his lips following his eyes as he kissed her nose, then each eyebrow, her eyelids, the miraculous cheekbones, and finally, her lips. Slow, gentle, lazy kisses; inviting, persuading, until she opened to him; her mouth, hot, wet, tasting sweetly of wine. '_Alex_...' he groaned against her mouth. Suddenly the heat flared, and they were lost to everything but each other, no more thought as passion drove out reason.

His body pushed against hers as his tongue demanded a response; she answered him, pushing her hips against his, rubbing against him, making him groan like the damned. '_Alex... want you. Want you... so much. Going mad..._' He slid his hands down to her bottom, pulled her tight against him, gasping her name.

Alex shoved her fingers through his hair, pulling his head to hers and punishing him with bruising kisses, sobbing '_GeneGeneGene._..' She pulled him back to the bed, and they fell on to it, scrabbling at clothes, pulling shirts from waistbands. Alex, too impatient to undo shirt buttons, pulled Gene's shirt over his head; she raised her arms so he could pull her T-shirt off, his silver eyes smoking hot, his fingers scorching where they touched her skin. He fell on her, biting her neck and licking her skin, making her shudder; she held his head as he kissed her warm flesh. He pushed his hands underneath her, and Alex arched her back to push her body towards his mouth, exulting in the feel of his skin against hers, as he undid the clasp of her bra and pulled the straps off her shoulders and flung the thing away from them.

The phone rang for ages before they heard it, deafened by thudding hearts, rasping breath as they fought to be closer, oblivious. Alex pushed a hand between them, feeling for Gene's erection, but he pulled her hand away. 'Don't, love.' He held her wrist on the pillow, knelt over her, one knee between her legs, his mouth on her breast, sucking and teasing until Alex almost screamed. 'Your turn, Alex. See how it feels.' Gene muttered against her skin.

'Don't stop, feels so good…'

'Got to stop.'

'_No, please. Gene,_ _please_…'

He lay full length against her, his weight pressing her into the bed, and kissed her face. 'I don't want to stop, but you heard the phone – someone'll be over in a minute.'

'God, Gene, I want you. Want you inside me. Never felt...' She buried her face in his neck, her tears on his skin.

'Here, love, _shh_. Soon. When you get back. We'll have time then.' He rolled on to his side, bringing Alex with him, pulling her leg over his, so they were wrapped together. He stroked her hair, soothing her, trying to calm them both, letting her cry out her frustration, not far off tears himself.

A heavy fist banged on the door, making them both jump. Alex leapt off the bed, grabbed her dressing gown. She hissed at Gene. 'Quick – bathroom. Here...' She handed him his shirt and he scarpered into the bathroom as Alex went to the door.

Jaspan had come to collect her. 'Sorry, Jim. Just changing. Won't be a sec.'

She fled back to the bedroom, stuffed things back in the holdall and added the last few items she needed. She ripped off her jeans and knickers; found clean underwear and a pair of light silky trousers, yanked on a top and redid her hair after Gene had pulled out the pins. In three minutes she was ready, and she grabbed her holdall, jacket and bag, and closed the door on memories to keep her going for three days.

Gene emerged from the bathroom looking cool as hell, but thoroughly kissed, his lips swollen and his skin glowing. Alex snuck a quick look in the mirror and saw the same incriminating evidence. Ah well. She caught Jaspan's eye, then looked sideways at Gene. He shrugged, and Jaspan laughed.

'Come on, you two Mancs, we have a superintendent to catch. Time to go.'

xxxxxxxxxx

Gene drove across town to Scotland Yard with one hand on Alex's thigh, her hand on his, even when he changed gear. At traffic lights they'd gaze at each other till the air sizzled.

Jaspan tried twice to start a conversation, but the pair in the front had their minds on other things, and he gave up and tried instead to disappear into the upholstery. It was a long twenty minutes to Broadway. As soon as they stopped outside New Scotland Yard, Jaspan tapped Alex's shoulder. 'Let me out, then. I'll get the luggage. See you, Guv.'

Alex got out of the car and pulled the seat forward for him, then got back in.

'Tactful, isn't he?' Gene rubbed Alex's thigh, unable to take his eyes from her face.

'More than I could say of you, Gene Hunt. Jim's a good guy. You don't have to worry about him. There's only one Manc I want, anyway.'

'Who's that, then?'

'Franny Lee.'

'Cheeky mare. Mind you, our Franny is pretty gorgeous. Not as sexy as you, though. Come here.' Gene leaned across and kissed her like he'd only got three kisses left in the world. 'Alex, I...'

'_Shh_.' She kissed him back, her lips barely touching him, her tongue tracing the outline of his mouth, making him groan in torment.

'Can't Jaspan go on his own? I'll call in sick and we can spend three days naked.'

Alex giggled, her lips grazing Gene's ear; she squeaked as his hand snaked up the inside of her thigh and stroked her, feeling her damp heat through the fabric until he thought he was going to burst. ''Kin'ell, Bolls, you're steaming...'

There was a knock at Alex's window, making them both jump. It was Jaspan, refereeing. 'Come on, time's up. No holding. Get to your corners. Ding ding.'

'I can't get out, Bolls. I've got a hard-on like a redwood.'

'There's a joke about truncheons and a policeman's helmet, but...'

'Go on, bugger off before I have the law on you. Take care, Bolls. Look after Lucky Jim and watch out for Wandering Hans. Come back to me, safe. And steamy.' He kissed her again and reached across her to open the door.

'Be good, Gene. Don't go looking for trouble. Promise me. I want you in one piece when I get back, and firing on all cylinders. Drive shaft and pistons oiled and ready.' She gave him a wicked look, and picked up his hand; she put his middle finger in her mouth and sucked it hard, looking into his eyes.

'Oh, fucking ... _fuck_!' Gene broke into a sweat, his eyes wide. 'Christ, Bolls... I'm going to have to go home and change. Now get out of here before I die of shock.' He kissed her one more time. 'Bye, love.'

Alex smiled, blew him a kiss, and got out of the car, walking up the steps without a backward glance, until she heard the Audi engine race away, when she turned and watched the red machine disappear into traffic.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

'It's a long time since I played gooseberry.'

Alex blushed. 'He can't help it. Making sure you knew how things stood, I suppose. He knows you've got three kids and a wife you love, but his instincts are pretty primal.' She was shocked to feel a sneaky pleasure at the Cro-Magnon behaviour.

'How long have you been lovers?'

'We're not, well, not quite. If you'd been half an hour later things might have different.' She gave him an exasperated look, then laughed at his expression.

'Bloody hell, Alex, I thought you were both going to burst into flames. I haven't seen anything so hot since... Christ, since... Alex Ferguson met Ronaldo.'

Alex pulled a face at the image. 'Yuk. If Gene knew who you were talking about, he'd have you moved back to Bishopsgate.'

'I know he's blue to his bones. I don't really care about footie, as long as it's not the bloody Scousers winning.' He grinned. 'Come on, let's go and find Cruickshank.'

Cruickshank found them, trotting down the stairs and striding across the foyer, hand outstretched to Alex, then Jaspan. 'Afternoon, both. Come on, I'm driving you to Gatwick. We can talk en route.'

A black Jaguar was waiting at the kerb, a uniformed driver standing beside it, holding the back door open. 'It's OK, thanks, Kieran, I'll drive. Tell Connor I'm giving you the afternoon off.'

'Thanks, sir.'

'See you tomorrow.'

'Good afternoon, sir. Ma'am, Detective Inspector.' The tall, softly spoken driver nodded to each of them, handed the car keys to Cruickshank, and helped Alex into the front seat, closing the door gently.

Cruickshank pulled away smoothly into the traffic on Victoria Street, and said little till they were round Parliament Square and accelerating down Millbank. He looked at Jaspan in the driving mirror. 'You're from Manchester, Jim?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Hyde?'

'Er... well, no. Didsbury, actually.'

'Ah. I went to Hyde for a bit.'

'Really, sir?'

'Yes, to interview the relatives of some of Dr Shipman's victims.'

'Sorry, sir?' Alex was fractionally ahead of Jaspan. 'Harold Shipman?'

'Yes, Alex. Just before I was, er, transferred here.'

There was silence in the car for a minute; Alex twisted around to look at Jaspan, and saw her expression mirrored on Jim's face.

'What about you, Alex? When are you from?' Cruickshank sounded calm as a bodhisattva.

'Here, sir. London. Spitalfields, to be exact.'

'Not where, Alex. When?'

'Um... 2008, sir.'

'Jim?'

'2007.'

Cruickshank sighed. '2005 for me. I can't tell you how it feels to meet you both. It's been a long three years since I arrived. Third of May, 1979, I woke up in a St John's Ambulance tent in Finchley. Mean anything to you?'

'1979… Election day?'

'Exactly. It seems I'd been hit on the head by a brick lobbed at the MP for Finchley. Turned out I was one of Margaret Thatcher's bodyguards.'

Alex and Jim laughed until they wept, Cruickshank infected with their hysteria to the point that he had to stop the car till they all recovered.

They were silent for a moment, catching their breath. Cruickshank turned to look at them both. 'The thing is – why?'

_TBC_


	24. Home truths

_Much too long between updates - apologies. Thanks, as ever, to Wombledon the splendidly expert beta, and to grainweevil for pin-sharp comments. General thanks to kind readers for support and encouragement during Muse's long holiday. _

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When Gene got back to Fenchurch East after dropping Alex and Jaspan at the Yard, there was a message on his desk. _Call Annie_. An 061 number. He picked up the phone and rang, but there was no answer; he finally reached her just after six.

'Annie love? Everything okay?'

'Hello, Gene. We're all fine, but I have got some news for you. Ruth's dad died at the weekend. Thought you'd want to know.'

'Oh, Christ. Poor Ena. What was it?'

'Cancer, but I don't know the details. He was nearly eighty. Don't think he was in pain, or anything – he died at home.'

'How did you hear?'

'Phyllis rang me. She and Ruth are still friends, you know.'

'Are they now. How's Ruth taking it?'

'I haven't spoken to her, Gene. Will you come up for the funeral?'

'When is it?'

'Friday morning at Blackley Crem.'

'I'll try.'

After he put the phone down, Gene was trapped by thoughts about his old life. His old wife. Ruth had divorced him, had remarried, and now her father was dead. Reg and Ena Thompson were decent folk, hard-working and kind, and Gene had been fond of them – Reg had been more of a dad to him than his own father. _Should have gone to see them when I went up to see Mum._

He drove up on Thursday, booked into a bed and breakfast overlooking Heaton Park, and went to see his mother and her sister Ruby. With his father and brother dead, and Gene moved to London, his mother had moved in with Ruby for company as much as for economy, but he wondered if they were good for each other. His mother had got increasingly bitter in the last few years, and Gene's divorce had given her plenty of ammunition to snipe at the Thompsons and especially at Ruth; Ruby was her sister's echo – they egged each other on in their grievances. Gene, therefore, wasn't surprised when he learned he'd be going to the funeral without them.

'What, go and be nice as pie to that Ruth and her mother? You must be joking, son.'

'Mum… Ena and Reg had nothing to do with the divorce – I've told you. You've known them for bloody ever…'

'Don't you swear at me, Gene Hunt.'

'Sorry, Mum, but I don't understand why you hate them these days. I don't, for Chr… for goodness sake, and it was their daughter who took me to the cleaners.'

'You should be supporting your mother, not that Thompson shower.' Ruby's voice had shot up half an octave in outrage.

Gene left soon afterwards, knowing he'd not turn the tide of their bitching and feeling too worn out to put up with it. Despite then diving into a pub and sinking too much beer in a fruitless effort to wash away thoughts of his dismal family, his failed marriage, and his frustrated love life, he was at the crematorium in good time for the brief service on Friday at ten o'clock.

A memorable voice at his shoulder made him look round.

'Hello, Guv. Didn't think you'd turn up.'

'Hello, Phyllis. Retirement suits you. You don't look a day over eighty.'

'Glad to see the charm hasn't worn off. Annie rang you, then?'

Gene nodded. 'I thought she'd be here.'

'She hasn't spoken to Ruth since your divorce. Loyal to a fault, that girl.'

'What's that – my fault, I suppose?'

'I'm saying nothing, Gene.'

'Very wise, Phyllis.'

Gene was distracted as his eye was caught by the arrival of the hearse and the chief mourners. His ex-wife looked very different – younger, better dressed, more confident than when they'd been married. She was supporting her mother, who'd turned into a little old woman since Gene had last seen her. A man hovering at Ruth's shoulder was, Gene assumed, the bloke she'd left him for. As they shuffled out of the crematorium chapel, Gene got a few odd looks from Reg's family. He was on guard when he reached Ruth, waiting for some sour comment from her, but she surprised him. 'Thanks for coming, Gene. Good of you.' He was caught on the hop, not prepared for being nice, and couldn't find the words before he was shuffled on to poor little Ena, seventy-four now, and worn out. He bent and kissed her lightly on the cheek. 'I'm sorry, love. Reg was a good bloke. He'll be missed.'

Ena grabbed Gene's hand tight and looked beseechingly up at him. 'Come back to the house, Gene love. Please. It's so lovely to see you. You will come back for tea, won't you?'

'All right, Ena, thanks. Anything for you.' He patted her arm, and his former mother in law gave him a wobbly smile before the next well-wisher grabbed her hand, and Gene was shunted onwards.

Back at the house, Gene was met by Ruth's new husband, a beige man in a blue suit; afterwards he couldn't remember anything about him. The two men shook hands warily, but the new bloke was too polite to allow Gene anything but a civil response, and he was waved through to the front room to choose between sweet sherry and stewed tea. The little house was crammed, and he was getting claustrophobic amongst this scrum of people he no longer knew. Gene eased his way slowly through the press of bodies to reach the sofa where Ena and Ruth sat besieged.

'Ena, love, I've got to go.'

The old woman clutched at his arm. 'Oh, Gene – please stay, love. I so want to talk to you. They'll all be gone in a bit.'

Gene couldn't bring himself to refuse her, but Ruth rescued him.

'Why don't you come back tomorrow morning? Then we can have a chat in peace.'

The following morning, waiting on the doorstep for an answer to his knock, Gene was still puzzled by Ruth's attitude. He'd been expecting a frosty reception at best, but she'd not been unfriendly. Almost seemed pleased to see him. Women. Baffling.

Ena opened the door and her weary face lit up at the sight of him. 'Gene love – ooh, I'm that pleased to see you. Give us a kiss!' She put her dry, lined hands up to his face and drew him down for a smacker on each cheek. 'Come in, then, lad, come in.'

Ruth was in the kitchen, putting biscuits on a plate. 'Hello, Gene. Get a good night's sleep?'

Gene gave her a sharp look to see if she was getting at him with a jibe at his old habits, but it seemed not. The tired smile reached her eyes, and he was on the back foot again. He didn't understand this friendliness when they'd parted in such bitter anger.

Ruth left the room, and Ena pulled Gene to the table. 'Come and sit down, love. Tea? Have a Garibaldi – they're the ones you like, aren't they?'

'You remembered.'

Ena smiled at him, tears in her eyes. 'How could I forget, after all the time you've spent in this house?'

'Fly cemeteries, Reg called them. Horrible. Drove me mad, he did.'

'Why do you think he said it every time? He loved teasing you.'

'I know. I've missed it. Missed you.'

Ena stood looking fondly at Gene. 'It's lovely seeing you sitting at the kitchen table again. I wish you'd been up to see us before this.'

Gene looked down at the table. 'I've been…'

'Busy, I know, love. You're an important man - down in London now, aren't you? Telling the Prime Minister what's to do, I'll be bound.'

Gene sniffed at the notion. 'Just a worn out cog in the machine these days, Ena. London's a big, dirty city and coppers like me don't mesh well in the works.'

'Well, come back up here, love. We need you.'

'Don't think Ruth does. She looks well.'

'She does, doesn't she? Happy, you see, with Simon.'

Ruth, putting tea things on a tray, looked over at them. 'Oi, do you mind? If you want to talk about me, at least wait till I'm out the room.' She took the tray and left them to it.

Ena chuckled. 'Between you and me Simon's a bit dull, but he thinks the world of her and he suits her.'

'I made her miserable.'

'It was the job, love – you worked too hard.'

'No, Ena. It wasn't just the job, and it wasn't just the last few years. I was a f… flaming rotten husband, and you know it.'

Ena leant forward, putting her hand on top of Gene's. 'I shouldn't say this about my own daughter, but now she's happy it can be said. It takes two, love. Ruth wasn't strong enough for you, and she couldn't hold you.'

'She was a sweet girl, and I was such a bastard.'

'She loved you. You know it wasn't her idea, the divorce? It was that Val. She nagged her into it.'

'Val Edwards?' Gene frowned. 'Oh, now there's a surprise.'

'She was after you for herself, I reckon.'

Gene threw her a sharp look. 'Christ – there's not much gets past you, is there, Ena?'

'She tried it on, did she?'

'You could say that.'

'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, Gene love.'

Gene let go a long breath and sat back. 'Using Ruth to get revenge. She did a bloody good job. Left me without a pot to piss in.'

'And how about now, Gene, love? Have you got a young lady?'

'Not so's you'd notice. She's not that young, and I haven't got her.'

'I thought so. You've the look of a man in love.'

'You must be bloody joking. She drives me round the twist.'

'Strong character, is she?'

'Tough enough to make a grown man cry. She punched me once. Twice, actually.'

'Is she pretty?'

He was silent for a moment, seeing Alex in his head, his body reacting just at thought of her. He caught his breath. 'If you like that sort of thing.'

Ena could read his face like a chipshop menu, and the expression that went with Gene's words showed the truth of it.

'She's not married?'

'Not as far as I know.'

'So what's getting in the way?'

'Do you know, Ena – three hundred years ago I'd have had to arrest you for witchcraft.' Gene smiled to soften the words, and Ena chuckled.

'I should mind my own business, shouldn't I?'

'It's complicated.'

'Not really. I know you, love. I reckon you're fretting over problems that don't exist and ignoring what's important.'

'I wish it were that simple.'

'It is that simple. Does she love you?'

'Doubt it.'

'But you love her.'

Gene shifted on his chair and said nothing.

'Have you told her?'

'She knows how I feel.'

'Have you told her?'

Gene dropped his head, unable to answer.

'You have to tell her, Gene, my dear. Women need telling, out loud, every day. Reg used to whisper it every night when he turned the light out. Couldn't say it in daylight, the daft bugger, but he still said it.'

Gene squeezed her hand as the tears spilled from her eyes. 'I'm sorry, Ena, love. You'll miss him.'

'Sometimes I forget to breathe, when I'm thinking about him. It feels like I'm going to fall over because he's not standing beside me. Every night since he died I've gone to bed and wished I didn't have to wake up because I can't face another day without him.' She wiped the tears from her eyes, but they kept falling. 'But the funny thing is I'm grateful. It shows me how lucky I was to have him for all those years. To love someone and know that they love you is the best thing, the very best thing in life. Children are wonderful, and you love them more than life itself, but they don't love you the same way as you love them. To find your partner in life, who's your true match – it's like getting to heaven early. I want you to have that, love. I know you and Ruth didn't work out, but you're still family to me.'

'Ena…'

'No, Gene, listen to me. You're a wonderful man. A good man. I know you try and hide it, but you're loving, and strong, and clever…' She paused as Gene opened his mouth to argue, and pressed her hand on his firmly. '…and you deserve to be happy.'

Ruth walked back into the kitchen. 'Tea's gone cold. I'll put the kettle on again.'

Ena stood up and picked her handbag off the back of the chair. 'I'm off to the shop for a paper. Back in ten minutes.'

Gene leapt to his feet. 'I'll go for you, love. What rag do you read?'

'No, Gene, thank you. I need to get back to normal, or I'll fetch up in the loony bin. You stay and talk to Ruth and I'll be back in a jiffy.'

She vanished through the back door, leaving Gene and his ex-wife alone for the first time in over two years. Gene lit two fags and handed one to Ruth.

'I've given up.'

Gene was about to stub it out, but Ruth held out her hand for it. 'Give it here. I'm gasping…' She shrugged, and smiled. 'Simon's worked really hard to get me healthy; you've been in the house for two minutes and look at me.' She blew a stream of smoke on a great sigh of relief.

'He's the bloke you left me for.'

'No. I did know him – he worked upstairs from me in Accounts. But we didn't start going out till after I left the firm Christmas before last.'

'So who'd you go off with, then?'

'No-one. I knew you'd stop me going if I just left. But if I said I had someone else it would hurt your pride, and you'd let me go.'

'You went off on your own? Wanted to be on your tod rather than live with me any longer? Bloody hell, Ruth.'

'You were hard to leave, Gene, if that's what you want to hear. Every day when you left for work I'd psych myself up to pack my suitcase and go, but I'd still be there when you got back, however late you were, and however drunk you were, because I couldn't imagine life without you. Didn't know where I'd fit in the world if I didn't have you to wait up for, if I didn't have to defuse your rages at the world, didn't have your snoring to keep me awake.'

Gene stared at the floor,

'The rumour was that you left me for a woman. I didn't believe them, mind, but the gossips were hard at it. That hurt.'

'I heard. I promise you I never said that. I couldn't…'

'Not your idea, then. Was it Val's?'

'Mum told you about her. Yes. To be honest I went along with her because I had no strength of my own and she was like one of those steam things. Traction engines.'

'You know she tried it on with me about a week after you left?'

'Yeah. Phyllis told me. So you turned her down, then.'

'Yes. Well, not the first time. I was very drunk, and you'd left me, and she was offering…'

'She's not subtle, is she, Big Val?'

'Not exactly. She made it clear what she thought when I threw her out the next morning. And when I turned her down after that.'

'Not impressed?'

'Not at all.'

'I did wonder why she was so keen for me to take you to the cleaners. She wound me up something chronic till I believed you deserved it. I'm sorry, Gene. And then Sam was killed.'

'Yeah. Not my favourite year, that.'

'I felt really guilty; it must have made your life hell. It's not what I wanted, Gene, I swear. I know it rings a bit hollow, but it's the truth.'

Gene looked at her, searching her face, his inquisitor's eyes narrowed to slits. After a moment, he nodded. 'It's okay, Ruthie, I believe you. If you must know, I think I deserved it. I was a bastard to you for most of our marriage.' He paused. 'Were you ever afraid of me?'

Ruth took a moment to reply. 'Yes, I suppose… sometimes. I knew you'd never deliberately hurt me, but you could be so angry when you'd had a bad day. You could be pretty scary. Specially when you'd had a skinful.'

'I'd never have hurt you, Ruthie.'

'Hurting doesn't just mean hitting, Gene. There are others ways to hurt someone.'

Gene looked haunted. Ruth touched him briefly on the arm in a gesture of reassurance. 'What Mum said was true, though. I was listening outside the door... It takes two to wreck a marriage, and just because I didn't behave badly doesn't mean I wasn't responsible. We weren't right for each other. I loved you so much, but I wasn't interesting enough to keep you at home.'

'It wasn't your fault, Ruthie…'

'Maybe not my _fault_ – I can't help my nature – but it wasn't all your fault, either.'

Gene sniffed. 'You remind me of my DI. All this touchy-feely psycho-bollocks.' He smiled down at her. 'Didn't think I'd ever talk you again. Not without a bodyguard and a bullet-proof jacket, anyway.'

'That's funerals for yer,' she said, pulling a comic face. 'Bring people together and make 'em all emotional.' She turned away from him quickly, fiddling with the kettle. 'Do you actually want tea, or would you rather have a scotch?'

'It's a bit early, but yeh, why not. Is it in the sideboard?'

'I'll get it. You sit down.' Ruth scarpered, and took ten minutes to get the whisky from the next room, presumably via the bathroom, since her face was composed and her make-up repaired. She poured them both two fingers of scotch and sat across the table from Gene. She looked at him for a moment, started to speak, then hesitated for a moment. 'So… so who's this woman of yours, then? You met your match at last?'

'Eavesdropping. Might have known – nosey cow.'

She smiled. 'I need to know. I still have a stake in you, Gene, bought and paid for over nearly twenty years. No voting rights, but a lifelong interest.'

'Bloody 'ell, Ruthie, you sound like a money-lender.'

'Bloody 'ell, Gene, that's because I am one.'

'_What_?'

'I work for Coutts. Admin on share dealing. My boss was Simon's best man.'

'Well, bugger me sideways.'

'Don't tempt me, Gene. The rolling pin's within reach. Answer the question, Mr Hunt.'

He threw his head back and laughed. 'Smart-arse bloody woman. You'd do better in CID than some of the twats I've got in my team. You've changed, Ruthie. Suits you.'

'Simon's given me the confidence. Don't think you'd like him much – he's not a blokey bloke, but he's interested in me, wants to see me succeed. He's done so much for me, Gene, and I have changed. At least, I've stopped being so feeble and I can be myself, because I've got someone who thinks that I'm worth loving.'

Gene flushed and dropped his head. 'Christ, Ruthie…'

Ruth leaned across and put a hand on his arm. 'No, Gene, I wasn't saying… What I mean is that the right person can change our lives. If Simon could stop me being afraid of everything, maybe this woman of yours can stop you being angry with everything.'

'It's her who drives me mental. She's the most infuriating, mouthy bloody fruitcake; answers back, questions everything, contradicts me, makes me feel…' He stopped suddenly, realising he was babbling. Ruth was grinning at him.

'You have got it bad. I'd like to meet her. You will ask me to the wedding, won't you?'

'What bloody wedding? We're not an item, Ruthie. I have no idea what she thinks. She wants to shag me. Of course she wants that…'

'Of course…'

'Naturally.' They grinned at each other. 'But other than that, I don't have a clue. Great detective, eh?'

'Why not ask, and see what she says?'

'What, and get laughed at? She's way out of my league, Ruthie.'

Ruth looked at him with one eyebrow raised.

'She's a posh bird. Silver plums in her gob, private education, all that bollocks.'

'Exactly. Bollocks. None of that matters, Gene, if she loves you.'

'Big if.'

'Big if only, if you don't give it a go.'

'I'll not get wed again. No good as a husband – you know that better than anyone.'

'Not as my husband, maybe, but she sounds like she's up to the mark. Don't write off marriage because you didn't get it right first time. You've got a second chance, Gene. What have you got to lose?'

'Sleep. Hair. Sanity.'

They heard the front door open and Ena make an unsubtle noisy return before she poked her head round the kitchen door. 'Oh, lovely. I was afraid you'd have gone. I've been ages. Everyone's been so kind.'

More scotch, beef sandwiches, and many memories later, Gene got to his feet. 'Got to go. Long drive.' He knelt down by Ena's chair and gave her a big hug. 'Bye, love. Take care of yourself, or I'll have to run you in.'

Ena clung to him for a moment. 'Dear Gene. I'm so glad you came. Will you come back soon? And bring your young lady next time. What's her name?'

'Alex. But she's not mine, not young and not always a lady.'

'I'll love her for your sake, Gene. You're family – never forget that. Just because you're not married to Ruthie any more doesn't mean we don't still love you.'

'Ena…' He kissed the old lady's cheek tenderly. 'Bye, love. I'll see you again soon.'

Ruth followed him to the front door. Gene turned to her, and putting his hands on her shoulders, leant to kiss her lightly on the cheek. 'Thanks, Ruthie. For everything. I didn't expect any of this – thought Ena might be pleased that I'd turned up, but didn't think you would.'

'I'm really grateful you came, Gene. Glad we talked. I still love you, you know. I thought I hated you for a while, but thinking back, it was mostly Val pouring poison in my ear. Don't get me wrong – I love Simon, and he makes me very happy. But you're my Gene Genie. No-one like you, darlin'.'

'Ruthie. Little Ruthie…' Gene stroked her face, pushing his hand through her heavy blonde hair as she wrapped her arms round him. 'For old times' sake…' He muttered, before kissing her mouth once, twice – then she kissed him back with sudden passion, their bodies remembering shared sweetness. They held each other tight for a moment more, then let go.

'Stay in touch, Gene. Come and see Mum sometimes. Talk to your Alex – I think she'd make you happy if you let her.'

'Bye, love.'

Gene drove the short distance to Heaton Park and walked for an hour or so in the cold, bright sun, thinking hard, remembering, planning. Wondering if he could ever get clear of the Carterets and their poison, whether Alex would understand, could forgive...

_Why are you angry with me?_

_You really think I would go anywhere near a man who hits women? _

He couldn't get her words out of his head; stuck in his mind like broken glass. Every time he began to think of a future with Alex, began to believe in her, the words sliced through his hopes.

Almost sober, Gene got into the Audi and drove back to London, stopping only for petrol and a piss when he turned on to the M1, and getting home in the early hours of Sunday morning. He pushed open his front door and kicked the post out of the way, picking up the handful of letters once inside. Bank statement and bills, and one large, unmarked manilla envelope. He poured himself a large scotch and sat at the kitchen table; the envelope was unsealed, and he pulled out its contents. A photograph, and a typed note. The image would win no prizes for composition, but it was sharp enough. Gene dropped the photo on the table and picked up the note. Only thirteen words, but they left little more to be said.

'_One for my darling Alex, and some others for… who else, do you think?'_

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TBC


	25. Missing by inches

Jaspan was already ploughing into a plateful of eggs, rosti and bratwurst when Alex came down to breakfast on Thursday morning, and he grinned at her brazenly. 'Fry-ups are still legal in 1982. My wife hasn't let me have a sausage since 2004.'

Alex narrowed her eyes at him. 'Would you care to rephrase that? At Fenchurch East that could be construed as fighting talk.'

'Oh, go on – have a sausage. Nobody will know.'

Alex stuck her nose in the air with a flourish and went to get herself a bowl of fruit. Jaspan sneered at the dull option, and Alex speared a chunk of his bratwurst from under his nose, eating it before he could snatch it back.

'Bloody women! You take the moral high ground, but you're bloody devious all the same.'

'You're beginning to sound like Gene Hunt, Jim, and you've only been working for him for a couple of weeks. You'd better get back to Manchester before you turn into Gene's Mini-Me.' She threw him a wicked look through her eyelashes, and giggled.

'I'll have you know I'm the very model of a modern CID man.'

Alex gave him an old-fashioned look and ate a grape. 'Who are we meeting today?'

He pulled a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and scanned it, frowning over the complex German titles. 'Polizeioberkommissar Matthias Klostermayer of the Bavarian SEK – he knows everything there is to know about the Oktoberfest bombing two years ago. Tomorrow a big knob is coming down from Bonn – Ulrich Strauss. He's the blokein GSG9 who knows all about the neoNazis and Operation Gladio. Then we can go home and catch the fuckers who are playing with matches in our capital city. But not before you've told me about you and Gene Hunt, or before we've worked out what the fuck we're all doing in 1982.'

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Matti Klostermayr, a graduate officer in a sharp suit, showed the English visitors some of the evidence from the Munich bombing two years earlier. 'It was a pipe bomb made from a fire extinguisher; it was filled with one and a half kilos of TNT and some mortar shells, and this killed thirteen people and injured 200 more. Last year we found over thirty stores of arms buried in a forest by a member of a right wing group called Wehrsportgruppe Hoffman. The Oktoberfest bombing had the marks of a Gladio attack; such a huge arsenal of weapons and explosives suggests that this was not simply a group of amateur neo-Nazis. They must have had some influential army connections.'

Alex watched her colleagues as they went through the evidence, and wondered what Gene would make of them. Young, bright, well educated, urbane, European – the future of policing. It would drive him to drink.

'…Alex?'

'Sorry, Jim, what?'

He raised an eyebrow. 'Matti's asked us to dinner. OK with you?'

Alex smiled at Matti. 'Yes, lovely. Thanks, Matti.'

'You're welcome, Alex. If you would like to try some traditional Bavarian food, there is a nice place behind the Marienplatz.'

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Before dinner on Thursday, Alex tried to ring him, reckoning that with the hour's difference he should still be at the office, but it was Ray that picked up. 'The Guv's gone home for his father in law's funeral. Back at weekend, I suppose.'

Alex felt deflated, hurt that Gene hadn't let her know, but realising that for Gene, out of sight was probably out of mind. His family was none of her business, either, so why would he think she should know? _Stupid Alex, you're making too much of a few kisses. He wants you, certainly, but more than that? Two and two don't make five. Don't assume that he wants you for anything else. Except work – and most of the time, not even that._ He didn't trust her enough to tell her who attacked him, after all. And he'd said nothing more about Miranda. How involved had he been – had he been in love with her? And what about Harry – why was Gene so angry about Haggerty? What had the weasel said to him? She had a sudden, horrible thought. Was it Harry who'd attacked Gene two weeks ago?

The phone buzzed, making Alex jump. It was Jaspan, ready for dinner.

'Oh, god, Jim – sorry. Ten minutes. See you downstairs…'

Matti Klostermayr was good company and brought out the clown in Jaspan, so Alex spent most of the evening giggling. It took her mind off things at home, but once back in her room, alone with her thoughts, she was plagued by fears and uncertainty about Gene.

It didn't take long to hit the familiar swamp of confusion about reality. She'd been so immured in this world that she'd almost accepted her place in it, learned to live out of her time, ceased to think of the people around her as anything but solidly, inescapably alive. How could all this be her imagination? It was too much, far too much for her mind to have created. London she knew well, but Munich? The scent of blossom on the Marienplatz, the flavours of Bavarian food, the complex structure of the German police force, every unfamiliar, unimaginable detail of her journey.

And there was Gene. Every unfamiliar, unimaginable detail. Not just of the man, but of her feelings about him. She'd despised the man Sam Tyler had described, perhaps more than she'd expected because of the unwelcome frisson, the undeniable chemistry between them from the moment she arrived. She hadn't wanted to want him – a Northern, pig-headed thug, however effective a copper. But she'd discovered so much more to him. Little by little, she'd seen facets of his character that had taken her by surprise, even shocked her. His kindness, the innate sense of fairness that would override his prejudices; his uncanny instincts about people. His strength. His vulnerability. Full of contradictions, he was an impossible man. Like no-one else she'd met; no-one she could have imagined. Gene Hunt – a trusted friend? Crazy. But she did trust him. Loved him. _Want his arms around me, keeping the world at bay. Feel so safe with him. So alive. Want to look into those beautiful eyes, want to fall asleep in his arms, wake up with him every morning._

Then – stabbed by the memory of Molly in her bed, the silky hair tickling her face, the sharp little shoulders jabbing into her ribs as her child wriggled close for comfort. Alex cried out with the pain of it. She'd pushed Molly into a dark corner, couldn't cope with the ever-present ache of missing her, the compulsion to get back to her fighting with the growing love for a 1980s anomaly, the astonishing reality of Gene Hunt.

_I'm going to be ripped in half when I'm forced to choose. There is no choice – home is with Molly. But please god, please don't make me decide. If you take me away from here, make me forget. If I have to lose Gene, I don't want to remember. Too much pain – it'll kill me._

She slept, eventually, but woke with a head full of cotton wool, eyes sore with crying. _Got to talk to him. Get him away from everything, wrap myself round him, have all that strength and warmth to myself. Want to be driven out of my mind with wanting. To forget everything but him. Want to hear him shout my name as he comes, to hold him as he falls asleep in my arms…_

Her body ached for him, a physical craving only partly satisfied by the jet of water from the efficient German shower. _No substitute for his tongue, his fingers…. oh god… Gene…_ If anything, it made things worse. She thought about him all morning, had to be kicked sharply on the ankle by Jaspan when she failed to respond to Matti's questions about Jack Carteret.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Alex had explained the connections between English establishment, neo-Nazi Catholics, and the Hindu fundamentalists, Matti Klostermayr puffed out his cheeks and blew out a long breath. 'That seems very, ah, what is the word…'

'Far-fetched?' Jaspan prompted him.

'Far-fetched, _ja_.'

'Doesn't it just. It would be so much easier if we could pin it on the IRA. But there are links in to all these political and religious organisations, like Operation Gladio and Opus Dei, and in the middle of it all is this one family, the Grenvilles.'

'What do they want? This is costing them a great deal of money.'

Jaspan nodded. 'I don't think Grenville is short of cash. And there must be other influential names backing him, but he is staggeringly well-connected and we haven't yet discovered who his backers are. As far as we can see, it's a political agenda. Grenville is linked with the British Democratic Party, and even his daughter accuses him of being racist.'

Matti scribbled some notes. 'This sounds very like the _strategia della tensione_ in Italy. You know about the massacre in December 1980 in Bologna? But it has been going on since 1969.'

'Strategy of tension – this was far right activists using false flag terrorism to feed people's fear about the Italian communists?'

'Exactly. It sounds like your Mr Grenville is trying to turn people against Hindus. All Asians, maybe.

Alex remembered Lucilla Grenville's bitter accusations. 'It also allowed them to get rid of what they saw as the taint in their own family. For a British fascist to have a Bengali son-in-law must have been somewhat galling.'

Tearing a page of his notepad, Matti got to his feet. 'Excuse me for a few minutes. I want to make a call to a friend in Milan who might be able to help you.'

Within half an hour, Matti had arranged for Jaspan to fly to Milan in the morning to meet a journalist, Flavio Zanetti. 'He is the expert on the _strategia della tensione_, Operation Gladio, P2, everything you need.'

'Journalist? We've issued D notices on all this in the UK. If our media know we're briefing an Italian hack, they won't be so happy about keeping things hush-hush'

'It's OK, Alex. Zanetti can be trusted. He will want the… prize?'

'The scoop.'

'…the scoop, in Italy, when you are ready. It will pay him to be discreet, and he may find out some things for you faster than is possible for the police. Zanetti has an address book that many people would kill for.'

'Literally, I suppose. How does he survive?'

'No-one knows. No-one wants to know…' Matti smiled wryly.

Friday saw Jaspan jet off to Milan, while Alex stayed in Munich to see Ulrich Strauss. In Manchester, Gene went to Reg's funeral, and in London a second Panzerfaust was fired, this time at the Synagogue in St John's Wood. The missile hit the building but failed to detonate. Under the D Notice issued to the press, the incident was reported, but not the details of the weapon or its connection to earlier attacks.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Alex got to Heathrow late on Saturday night hoping that someone would be there to collect her, but she was out of luck. She knew Gene was in Manchester, but thought he might have told Chris or Duffy to come and get her. But no. Her return obviously hadn't crossed his mind. She looked at the signs for the Piccadilly Line, but it was nearly midnight, and it was a good hour's trek by tube to Tower Hill. _Fuck it. Sod 'em. They can bloody well pay for a cab._ Furious, hurt, and tired, she hurled her case into the back of a taxi and brooded all the way back to the flat. _Bloody Gene bastard Hunt. He can be generous when he wants something, like a shag, but when he's getting nothing out of it, hard cheese, DI Drake. _

Her period was giving her gip, there was no chocolate in the flat, and the heating was off. _Sodding Luigi, useless bloody landlord._ She didn't sleep well, spending most of the night convincing herself that Gene just wanted a shag, probably trying to win a bet with CID over how long it would take him to crack her. She'd made a complete tit of herself, begging him for sex, for god's sake. Maybe it was a means of getting rid of her. _Perfect way of manipulating me into transferring out. And a shag. What a deal. And wouldn't Ray Carling just love it. The Manc Lion knocks off another lovestruck bird, and Bollyknickers vacates the premises. Beers all round._

Maybe a transfer wasn't such a bad idea. Maybe Brian Cruickshank would give her a job. Special Branch would get right up Gene's nose. She was qualified for it, and she could handle it. Spooks. She could do that. Or maybe go up to Manchester. Work with Jaspan. Sounded as though they were modernising at GMP now that Attila the Hunt had gone south.

She looked at her clock. Five to four. She could get up, make tea, open her post, put the washing on, pretend she'd slept. Or she could shut her eyes and

She looked at her clock. Two minutes past ten. _Shit. I'm late. _She flung back the duvet, then remembered._ Sunday. Off duty._ She got up anyway, showered, dressed, drank too much coffee and ate a boiled egg sandwich. Bloated and wired, she caught the bus to the London Hospital and walked miles through the green painted corridors to the children's ward.

'Can I see Nicole Cazneau? I'm one of the police officers investigating the case.'

The young staff nurse smiled at her, but looked nervous and trotted off to find the ward sister.

'You're looking for Nicole?'

'Yes please, Sister. DI Drake. I'm…'

'Yes. I'm afraid Nicole has had to go back to Intensive Care. No visitors, sorry.'

'Oh, god – what's happened?'

'She's developed an infection. It should be under control in the next couple of days, but no visitors in ICU, I'm afraid.'

'Give her my love. I'll be back to see her. Can I say hello to the boys?'

'Yes. Mirza and Firoz are across the corridor.'

Alex pushed through the double doors and looked for the boys she knew. Firoz was in the corner bed and Mirza… Six year old Mirza was there, sitting up and giggling at something his visitor was telling him. Alex didn't move, but watched him talking to the boy. Gene was in full flow, gestures, voices, movement – it was like watching _Jackanory_. Mirza was entranced. _He's brilliant with kids. Maybe…_

Mirza caught sight of her and waved, grinning. Gene turned to see who the child had spotted, and for a split second he looked happy to see her, before the shutters came down.

'Hello, Bolly. _Glad_ to be _back_ from _München_?' He turned back to Mirza. 'Mönchengladbach – get it? Footie joke – girls don't get 'em.'

The child giggled.

'Don't listen to him, Mirza. I can explain the offside rule, and I can tell you if your team wins the FA Cup in the next twenty-five years. Who do you support?'

'West Ham. Do they win?'

Alex put her hands in her back pockets and chewed her lip. 'Umm… Don't know offhand, but I'll find out for you. Gene isn't interested in winning things. He's a Manchester City man.'

'I know. He told me all the names of the first team, and who's scored this season, and when he met Francis Lee…'

'I'd probably support ManU if I came from up North. Or Liverpool. Nice red shirts.'

Gene picked up his cue. 'See? Girls. Useless. They pick teams for the colour of their kit.' He tutted dramatically, waggling his eyebrows. Mirza giggled. It was a good sound.

'How's Firoz?'

Mirza looked across at his friend. 'He's only got one eye now. He hasn't been out of bed yet. He has to pee in a bottle. His dad cries when he visits, and Firoz says it makes him sad. He sometimes pretends to be asleep so he doesn't have to talk to his dad.'

'Shall we go and talk to him for a bit?'

Mirza nodded. Gene and Alex padded across to the corner bed and sat next to each other so the child didn't have to turn his head to see them. A bandage covered half his head, his left eye covered over and the other closed, looking sunken in the thin face. His arms, resting limply on the blankets, were desperately thin. Alex took the boy's bony hand and saw Gene take the other. She felt the tears well up and tried to blink them away, but had to wipe away one that fell to her cheek. Gene glanced at her, his own eyes bright with a sheen of moisture; he took her free hand in his and squeezed it.

'Hello, Firoz. My name's Gene, and I'm here with Alex. We've just been talking to Mirza and he said you're sometimes a bit sad so we thought we'd come and say hello.' He paused to see if the boy would respond, but his unbandaged eye stayed shut.

'The last time we came you were still in intensive care, so it's great that you're up here on the getting-better ward.' Gene squeezed his hand gently.

'When you're really better, Firoz, will you come and see us where we work? We're police officers. Our station is quite close to where you live, near the Tower, so you could get the bus down with your dad and come in for a visit.' Alex stroked her thumb across the little hand.

'And if you fancy it, you can come for a ride in my car. Your dad'll like my car. Tell him it's a Quattro. Red. I'll get Alex to give it an extra clean for you.'

Alex gasped. 'Cheek. He should clean his own car, don't you think, Firoz?'

The boy was nodding. Not much, and his eye was still shut, but he was definitely nodding. And there was the hint of a smile.

'See, Gene? Firoz agrees with me. That's a cream cake for you, Firoz, and crisps.'

'Firoz is just being a gentleman, Alex. I bet he really thinks you should be nice and clean it for me, but he's too polite to say so. Aren't you, Firoz?'

The boy opened his eye, and his face split into a shy smile.

They stayed for another five minutes and played the fool; Mirza got out of bed and hobbled across to join in. When the ward sister came in, she found the two boys chuckling.

'Don't want to exhaust the boys, officers. Better make a move, please.'

'Oh, don't go!' Mirza hung on to Gene's arm.

'We'll come back another day. Promise.'

The boy grinned when Alex kissed his cheek. Gene ruffled his hair, and they stood up.

Firoz reached a hand to him. 'Come tomorrow?' His reedy voice was barely audible.

Gene took his hand. 'We'll come back whenever we can. But I won't promise tomorrow, because making promises that you're not sure you can keep isn't right, is it?'

Firoz shook his head.

Gene bent and kissed the boy's head, and got a grin as a reward. He squatted down and hugged Mirza, and Alex kissed him, too.

Once outside, Gene turned to Alex and pulled her into a hug, holding her tight. Then he let her go and slumped against the wall, pinching the bridge of his nose with finger and thumb. 'Christ.'

'You were brilliant. You got them both laughing.'

'We did. Make a good team, Bolls.'

'You were doing fine when I turned up.'

'Did better with you there.' Gene levered himself upright. 'Come on. I need a fag.'

Out in the weak sunlight they perched on a wall and he lit up, sucking the nicotine down into his lungs then exhaling a long stream of smoke which drifted on the cool breeze. Propping his elbows on his knees, he dropped his head and closed his eyes. Alex's heart contracted, seeing him with the weight of the world on his shoulders. She put a hand on his neck, rubbing gently; he grunted softly. 'Nice…'

'You OK?'

'Just old. So fucking tired, Bolls.'

'What's happened?'

'One thing after a bloody other.'

'Tell me.'

No response. She waited, but he stayed silent.

'Gene?'

He took a long drag on his ciggie and sat up. 'Compared to the kid in there? Nothing.'

'Why won't you talk to me?'

'I'm not in the mood, okay? Stop nagging me.'

She clenched her teeth to stop herself snapping at him. 'How was Manchester? Sorry to hear about your father in law.'

'Yeah.'

'Were you close?'

'Alex – I'm really not in the mood.'

'Fine. Sorry I asked.'

Gene heaved a great sigh, took a last drag and flicked the fag end into the flowerbed. 'How was Germany?'

'Oh, you sound really interested.'

'Know what? I'm not. Couldn't give a flying fuck, right at this moment.'

'Thanks a bunch.'

'Oh, for f…'

She snapped. 'Make your bloody mind up, Gene. I thought you'd be pleased to see me.'

'I _am_ Or I _was_. I said so.'

'When would you have got in touch if I hadn't turned up here?'

'I don't know. Maybe when we'd both had some sleep.'

'Oh, right. When we got to the office tomorrow, then.'

'Maybe, yes. I thought you'd be tired. I know I'm sodding exhausted.'

'Not so keen to see me as you were on Wednesday.'

'Nothing's changed.'

'You won't talk to me, you don't care what we've found out in Munich, you leave me to come home on my own last night, you….'

'_I was in Manchester_. You knew that.'

'Only because _I_ phoned _you_ and had to hear it from bloody Ray.'

'There you go. You were told.'

'Not by you.'

'Oh, Christ…' He got to his feet and walked a few paces before turning back to her, eyes blazing. 'All right. Sorry I didn't ring Germany to tell you I had to go to a funeral of someone you've never heard of. Sorry Reg didn't die at a time more convenient to you. Sorry I wasn't in two places at once. Sorry you were forced to walk home from Munich. Sorry I was _bloody born_!' He snarled, the rage barely contained.

'Don't you bloody shout at me. I was _trying_ to help…'

'_There's nothing you can do, Alex._' He spat the words out, and grabbed his head in despair. '_Jesus_… I can't handle this _crap_.' He stalked off round the corner, leaving Alex open-mouthed. She slumped back down on the wall and cursed herself for a fool.

Ten seconds later Gene reappeared. 'Come on. I'll take you home.'

Alex stared at him, then heard herself spit out: 'Don't bother. I'll take the bus.'

For a moment Gene looked as though she'd slapped him. Then the anger blazed. 'Sod you, then.' And he vanished.

Alex went after him. 'Gene. Gene!'

He didn't stop till he reached the car. He threw one scathing look in her direction, got in and slammed the door, firing the engine and making her jump out of the way as the Audi's tyres squealed on the tarmac.

xxxxxxxxxx

Alex was back in half an hour, time enough for bitter regret to turn to tears; her vision blurred, she almost fell off the bus. Trailing round from the bus stop in Leman Street, the first thing she saw when she turned the corner into Scarborough Street was the Quattro. Her heart thumped, either with fear or joy, she didn't know which. Both. She knew she'd been a complete shit, and that Gene had every right to be angry. Not enough sleep, too much oestrogen. No excuse for being an über-bitch, but he was here to give her another chance, thank god. Still a hope she could apologise, make him stay, hold him while he slept, or talked, or whatever he needed. Then, maybe, just maybe, he'd make love to her. She ran down to the bar.

Luigi beamed when he saw Alex. 'La bellissima signorina… buon giorno. You look for Signor Hunt? He was here, but he has gone.'

'Did he leave a message for me?'

'He said only two words. _Scotch_, and one minute later, _Scotch_ again. He was not happy.'

'No. I'm afraid I made him angry.'

'Is good. Anger is a strong emotion. It can quickly turn to passion. He will not be angry with you for long.' He smiled reassuringly at her.

'I hope you're right, Luigi.'

She trudged upstairs. _If the car's still there I'll phone the station, see if he's there._ But there was no need – he was sitting at the top of the stairs. Alex stopped on the half landing, looking up at him. 'Gene… thank god you're here. I'm so sorry. I…'

He put up a hand to stop her. 'Forget it, Bolly. Doesn't matter.'

'It does ma…'

'I said, forget it. I'm here on business. Not staying.'

'Business? What business?'

'Was there any post waiting when you got back?'

'Post?'

'Letters. Mail. Envelopes, Alex. On your doormat last night.'

She was bemused. 'Y.. yes, I haven't looked…'

'Show me, please.'

'Why?'

'Just show me, DI Drake.'

Alex pushed past him and unlocked the door. She'd kicked the post out of the way last night, too tired to deal with them. She picked them up now, and had them snatched from her hand. 'Do you mind?' She couldn't believe this.

Gene didn't answer, looking through the envelopes. There were two A4 size, one brown, one white. The manila envelope was handwritten with franked postage. The white one had a typed address and a courier's label. Like the one delivered to him. _Unopened. Thank Christ._ He ripped the envelope open, but Alex tried to grab it off him.

'Do you bloody well _mind_? That's _my post_. It's _illegal_ to interfere with the Royal Mail.'

'It wasn't delivered by the Royal Mail, but if you want to report a crime you'll find a number for your local station in the phone book.' Gene yanked the envelope from her grip and held it behind him. 'I'm going to check it. If it's not what I'm expecting, I'll know at a glance, and I'll give it back to you. _Okay_?' Not waiting for her response, he pulled the contents half way out, shoved it straight back in, and stuffed it inside his coat.

'What is it? Let me see…'

'No.'

He tried to move past her, but Alex slammed the door and put her back to it. 'Gene, please don't go like this.'

'Let me out, Alex.'

'I'm sorry for what I said earlier. Please stay for a bit. Have a drink. You can have a sleep, and then I'll make dinner. We can watch a video – just relax. No talking. Gene?'

'Some other time. Now if you don't mind...'

He gestured her out of the way, and she stepped aside. He was through the door and on the stairs.

'_Gene_…'

No reply. She listened to his footsteps get fainter, and a few seconds later, the Audi engine revved and moved off.

The phone was ringing. She picked up. It was DCI Clark.

'Can you be at Scotland Yard first thing for a debrief, Alex? Eight o'clock at Mr Cruickshank's office.'

xxxxxxxxxx

'Viv? Morning. Alex Drake. Could you give a message to DCI Hunt for me? Just let him know I'll be at Scotland Yard this morning. Thanks – bye.'

It was a long morning. Alex, Jaspan and Clark were in Cruickshank's office overlooking the front entrance, the trees of St James's Park visible between the buildings opposite.

Jaspan had had a fruitful day in Milan, with the journalist Zanetti deluging him with information and potential leads. 'He's looking to connect Grenville with Propaganda Due. Masons. When you're going through Grenville's contacts, Mr Clarke, you might also look for links with Banco Ambrosiano and Roberto Calvi.'

Alex looked sharply at Jaspan. Banker Roberto Calvi would be found dead under Blackfriars Bridge in August – still four months in the future; Zanetti couldn't have given him that lead. She exchanged glances with Cruickshank – the name hadn't been lost on him, either.

Alex gave them the German end of things. 'The SEK officer has promised to chase up the Panzerfaust lead – the ones that have been used here date back to the war. There can't be many of the things left, so he's confident of finding out where Carteret got them. Ulrich Strauss was _very_ interesting. He's nearly sixty, semi-retired, acts as a consultant for the antiterrorism squad. He was actually recruited to Operation Gladio after the war until he joined the CIA in 1963. He hadn't heard the names Grenville or Carteret, but he has a good idea of their likely contacts in Gladio. Carteret has to have access to military supplies and personnel.'

Alex and Jaspan were let out for beer and sandwiches, before meeting up with the whole team after lunch.

'Come on then, Alex – cough. Give me the low-down on Gene Hunt.'

Alex looked bleak. 'Huh. Not much to tell you. We're not on speaking terms.'

'What? Last Wednesday you were practically on fire.'

'Fire's well and truly out now. Ashes are cold.'

'Bollocks. I'll bet you my next month's salary that you're back on within the week.'

She shrugged. 'All right. At least I'll get a new coat out of the miserable mess.'

'The real mystery is how you two got together in the first place.'

'Tell me about it.'

'No, no… _you_ are going to tell _me_.'

That got a smile out of her.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

The twelve-strong team met in one of the conference rooms at the Yard, and the update took the rest of the day. Womble was looking sleek and happy – the picture of a man well loved-up. Lucky Carol, thought Alex.

The upshot of the various reports was that there was little doubt that the Carterets and Haggerty were the key perpetrators, and that Sir Richard Grenville was almost certainly the influence and the money. Only two tasks remained: to amass so much evidence they had no chance of walking away, and to catch the bastards.

They had been preparing for at least six years – vehicles used and discarded included two stolen in Glasgow in 1976. The level of organisation was enviable – they had covered tracks well – leads fizzled out with false names and dead end paper trails.

By the time everyone was given new leads to work on, it was past six, and Cruickshank was waiting outside in the Jaguar to take Alex and Jaspan to dinner. They were dropped in St Martin's Lane, and Cruickshank opened the door of a pub on a corner. Alex goggled. 'The Salisbury?'

Cruickshank grinned. 'There's method in my madness. After you…'

They found a corner table. 'I thought you said we were going somewhere discreet? The biggest gay pub in the West End isn't where I'd have chosen.' Alex was perplexed.

'It's tricky finding somewhere we won't be noticed by police, spooks, journalists or shit stirrers. If we're clocked here, one of two things will happen. Whoever spots us will either be here on the pull, and won't be keen to announce his presence; or they will be so busy chasing down stories about one or more of us being gay that they'll miss the real story.'

Jaspan went to the bar, and Cruickshank grabbed the opportunity. 'Are you married in 2008, Alex?'

'Divorced. Why?'

'You and Gene Hunt. Complicated, if you'd had someone in your own time.'

'There is no me-and-Gene-Hunt.'

'Come on, Alex – it's blindingly obvious to anyone with half an eye that you and Hunt are an item.'

Alex started to protest but Cruickshank stopped her. 'You can't get a cigarette card between you, physically or metaphorically.'

'We fight all the time. About everything.'

'Maybe, but it's still you two against the world. Within half an hour of getting a direct order from me, you disobeyed it, because you never wanted to work against Gene again.'

Alex's eyes widened. 'You heard that?'

Cruickshank laughed. 'For a 21st century copper you can be delightfully naïve, Alex. Of course we heard. I thought it entirely charming. And very useful. Two such loyal officers are of great value. Dangerous, though, if things get out of hand. Be careful that you and Gene don't get too far away from the team.'

'Is that a threat, sir?'

'Far from it. Genuine advice. I like you both very much. Gene is a rare beast to be conserved, and I have a vested interest in keeping you safe. You, Jim and I are lifelines for each other. I know it sounds odd coming from a senior Branch man, but you can trust me, Alex.'

'Yes, sir, I think I can. I think Gene does, too, although it makes him uncomfortable. He has an inbuilt mistrust of spooks. Er, Branch.'

'There are far spookier types than us. Scary lot. And you don't think that Operation Gladio bypassed the UK, do you?'

'No. I know Britain was one of the drivers after the war, and isn't The Great Handbag trying to get it up and running again now?'

'In 2005, I'd be nodding. In 1982, Ms Drake, you might think that, but I couldn't possibly comment.'

Alex laughed outright.

They had a good evening, reminiscing about the future, and trying to work out why they were here, and where 'here' was. Alex told them about Sam Tyler, his suicide and subsequent seven years with Gene, Annie and the rest, till his death in 1980. 'I knew all about Gene and his sidekicks, so finding myself sharing a world with them was bizarre.'

The two men had found no such ready-made constructs, nor did they have any particular mystery to solve, unlike Alex with her parents' death. Jaspan was the only one with a spouse and family; Cruickshank's wife had left him and taken his son to live in Spain. Cruickshank had been in hospital with pneumonia when he left 2005 and woke up in 1979; Jaspan had been stabbed by a junkie. The three of them had little in common, other than being police officers, and being on the edge of life in their own times.

'Do you even think we're all from the same future?' Jaspan threw another spanner into the works.

'Christ, Jim, don't make it worse.' Cruickshank was frowning at the permutations of that one. 'It's bad enough. Is this our imaginations, or a real world? Our real past that we've crashed through to? Am I imagining you two, or is one of you imagining me?'

Alex shook her head and protested at the confusion. 'God… I can't get my head round it. Do you think we're alive or dead?'

'Alive. I'm sure I'm alive.' Jaspan pulled out a photo of his wife and kids. 'I still feel connected to them. Don't ask me how.'

'Sam Tyler lived 'here' for seven years after he jumped off the roof of GMP HQ in 2006. Ray Carling told me he died in 1980. Or disappeared – his body was never found.' Alex gasped. 'It's just occurred to me. What about all the others – are they from different times too? Have they just been here so long they've forgotten the future?'

'I want to know one thing.' Jaspan paused. 'How do I get back to my family?'

'I thought I knew. If I stopped my parents dying, I'd go home. But I couldn't change the past. I don't know why I'm here if not for that. I don't know how to get back to Molly. Or how I'll cope back in 2008 without… without what I have here.'

'Without Gene.'

Alex sighed. 'Yes, sir. Without Gene. Haven't you made friends here? Had relationships? Fallen in love?'

'Friends, yes. Sexual relationships, yes. Love, no. People I'd miss, but no-one of crucial importance. Maybe Gene is the key to your presence here, Alex.'

'I was afraid you were going to say that.'

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The atmosphere in CID on Tuesday morning was poisonous, with a collective hangover of which Gene was the epicentre. He stayed in his office for most of the morning, shouting now and then for WPC Granger to produce tea, biscuits and paracetamol. Twice he summoned Ray, but Alex and Jaspan had got a toxic glare through the glass when they arrived, since when Gene had said not one word to either of them.

Gene was struggling with his second hangover in two days. After the row with Alex on Sunday, the rest of the day was spent getting through a bottle of Scotch, with the TV on to distract himself from thinking about her. It failed. But no matter how often he went over and over the row, he couldn't understand why she was so upset. _A bit narked, maybe, but to go ballistic like that… Hormones, maybe_. But the way he treated her at the flat… That was what he couldn't deal with. _Alex was trying to make things right, and I turned her down flat._ He hadn't believed his luck when he found the envelope still sealed, and he wanted to get the thing out of her reach. He'd been so fixed on that goal that he had missed the bigger picture. _Twat. Should have gone back. Left the bastard envelope in the car and crawled back to her. Grovelled. Begged her to take me to bed_.

On Monday, he was ready to make amends somehow, maybe take the morning off and take her back across the road, or wherever she wanted. But when he arrived, Viv told him Alex was off with her pals at Broadway for the morning. But noon came and went, teatime came and went, and no sign of her. No messages, no calls, no excuses, no apologies. _I'm still her DCI, for fuck's sake. Didn't that deserve a phone call even if I don't? Maybe she's after a job with Cruickshank. She'd like poncing around with that lot. Her psycho-bollocks would do her no end of good. Cruickshank should get her to psych out the Home Secretary. Bet he'd love that._

At the end of the day, with nothing achieved, he'd sat on his own at Luigi's and beaten hell out of another bottle of Scotch, waiting for the sound of Alex's footsteps on the stairs above. Sometime after midnight Ray and Luigi wrenched his car keys off him and pushed him into a cab; he woke on his own couch, still in his suit, cold, nauseous and sick at heart. _And this morning she swans in with her chum Jaspan, the bastard, laughing their heads off and crashing through CID like a pair of delinquents. Was she with him last night? Maybe she's cut her losses with me and he was in the right place last night. I'll kill him_. He had the sense to avoid her for most of the day, feeling another row might be the death of him.

Mid-afternoon, Alex's phone rang: Viv, saying Cruickshank was in reception to see her and Gene. She took a deep breath and knocked on his door, putting her head round without waiting for a response. 'Chief Superintendent Cruickshank's here, Guv. I'll go and get him.'

'What's he after?'

Alex shrugged, and left him to guess. She found Cruickshank leaning on the counter and chatting easily to Viv. 'Hello, sir. Come to see DCI Hunt?'

Viv's phone rang.

'Afternoon, Alex. Yes, quick word, that's all. I've been up to see Mr Dorney, thought I'd update you while I was here.'

'Sorry, sir. Call for you, Ma'am.' Viv held the phone out to her.

It was the ward sister at the London. 'It's bad news, DI Drake. One of the children from the Brick Lane bombing died this morning.'

Alex felt sick. 'Oh, god. Who?'

'Nicole Cazneau. We couldn't get her infection under control.'

'Do her parents know?'

'Yes. Her mother and grandmother were here.'

Alex handed the phone back to Viv. 'Bad news, Ma'am?'

'One of the Brick Lane victims… Died.' Her voice cracked, and she couldn't speak.

Cruickshank put a hand on her shoulder, and turned his head to Viv. 'Tell DCI Hunt, would you, please? And is there an interview room free?'

'Yes. Second on the left, sir.'

Cruickshank steered Alex in to the empty room, the grey walls comfortless, unyielding. 'One of the children in the firebombing?' he asked gently.

'Nicole Cazneau. She was eight.' There was a silence as she struggled to keep control of her voice. 'I never saw her face properly. Her back was burned, so she had to lie face down…' She put her hands over her eyes and hunched over, the tears unstoppable. Cruickshank put an arm round her shoulders, one hand on her head, comforting her.

Gene, still not knowing which of the children had died, dropped the phone on its hook and flung himself out of CID and round to find Alex. He saw them through the glass, and stopped dead. _In his arms… the plummy Southern bastard's got hold of her. Should be me. You don't belong here, you spooky shit._ He pushed the door open. 'Who is it, Drake?'

At the sound of his voice, Alex pulled away from Cruickshank, sniffed, and wiped her eyes. She cleared her throat and took a breath. 'Sorry, Guv. Nicole. Nicole Cazneau.'

'Yes.' Gene turned his head away for a moment. 'Come on, Alex. Let's get you back to CID.'

Cruickshank frowned. 'Maybe DI Drake could take the rest of the afternoon off, Hunt?'

'She's needed here, sir. Things to do, like catching the arseholes behind the firebomb.'

'Hunt…'

'It's OK, sir. I'm better here. DCI Hunt's right. Rather be doing something.' Alex wiped her eyes again and made a visible attempt to pull herself together. 'I'm fine. Really.'

Gene opened the door, ushered them both out and shepherded them back to CID, trying not to give in either to his ache to have Alex in his arms or to his longing to choke the life out of Cruickshank. _Younger, senior, taller, fitter, better educated, plummy Southerner. Christ_… Back in the CID sanctum, Gene marched to his office door and gestured Cruickshank ahead of him, turning to find Shaz. 'Granger – cup of tea for DI Drake. And bring another glass.' He turned back to Alex. 'Want five minutes to yourself?'

Alex shook her head. 'I'm fine. Caught me, that's all.'

Gene nodded, poured a finger of Scotch into two glasses and handed them to Alex and Cruickshank. Shaz handed a glass tumbler round the door and ran back to the kitchen. Gene poured himself a drink and without thinking, tipped his glass against Alex's. 'Here's to justice.' They drank in silence. 'Is there a reason for your visit, sir, or did you just want a chat with DI Drake here?'

Cruickshank perched on the edge of Gene's desk, and Gene, leaning against the door, gestured to Alex to take his chair.

'This is between us. Not to go outside this room.' Cruickshank spoke softly, and waited for the two Met officers to nod agreement. 'We've found Grenville's contact in the Met.' He mentioned the name of an assistant commissioner. 'A Mason. Known racist. Kicked upstairs last year.'

'You've told Mr Dorney, sir?'

'Yes, Alex. Your Chief Super is one of the few senior officers who isn't a Freemason.'

'I thought funny handshakes were all the rage in Special Branch.'

'I'm not a follower of fashion, Hunt.'

Gene nodded, assessing.

'Mr Dorney's brother is a senior civil servant in the Home Office; has the ear of the minister. A useful clean contact.' Cruickshank swallowed the rest of his whisky and stood up, holding his hand out to Gene. 'I like to know who can be trusted, Gene. Which pipes have no leaks.'

'Sir.' Gene shook his hand.

'I'll be in touch.' Cruickshank smiled at Alex.

She jumped up. 'I'll see you out, sir.'

Gene had to clench his teeth to stop himself saying something rash, and watched her walk away from him, glancing up at Cruickshank, exchanging smiles like friends. She didn't look back.

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TBC


	26. reconnection

_Missed two thank yous in the last chapter - firstly to BettinaM for all her information about the German police force; a complicated system! In the end I had to cut the chapter as it was already very long, so all Bettina's work went for nought. But still - many thanks. And of course huge thanks as ever to Wombledon not just for her beta toughness but for all kinds of expert knowledge and advice, without which I'd look more of an idiot than normal. Those thanks are repeated for this chapter, too._

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'Coming across the road, Boss?' Chris was at the door, ready for beer.

'Not tonight, Chris, thanks. But buy everyone a round on me.' She handed him a tenner, and got a grin in return.

'Cheers, Boss. You off somewhere nice?'

'Camden Palace, probably.'

'Nice one. Have fun, Boss. See you in the morning.'

It had been a crap day, without a single redeeming moment. Gene had been in a filthy mood since he'd turned up that morning, and the few times he'd been forced to speak to her, he managed to avoid eye contact. The frost between them had affected the whole team, and Alex thought they all deserved a night off. So she'd decided to leave them all to Luigi's tender mercies and head up to Camden Palace to exorcise her misery on the dance floor. Helped by a steady supply of alcohol. Maybe she'd get a decent night's sleep that way.

She'd come back from Germany fantasising about Gene and continuing where they'd left off, getting hot and sweaty and very naked. But far from a loving reunion and a steamy weekend in bed, it had been lonely and miserable, and the last two days had been no better – a chilly, irritable silence, bar the conversation with Cruickshank the previous day. Gene had shut her out of his private life, and today he'd sidelined her at work.

_Sod you._ Alex went back to the flat to eat something and have a bath before heading for Camden to numb out on noise and strangers. No one night stand, though. She wanted Gene, no-one else. She'd lost that route to oblivion. Didn't stop her finding a cute bloke to dance with, though. A bit of straightforward flirting wouldn't hurt. A few compliments might give her a boost.

The Palace was quiet for a Thursday, but she hadn't been there for three minutes before being chatted up. Jake, his name was. Very tall, sporty build, streaked hair and a suspicion of eyeliner. He'd do just fine.

He was an excellent dancer, and after three numbers Alex was feeling the endorphins kicking in. She grinned at Jake. 'Feeling great! You're good...'

He rested his wrists on her shoulders and smiled down at her. 'Keep dancing? Or want a rest?'

'Keep dancing. You're a long time dead.'

'You here with anyone?'

'No...' Alex was puzzled.

'Only there's a bloke up there who's been watching you.' Jake nodded towards the balcony and Alex followed his gaze. She caught a glimpse of a man melting back into the crowd. Tall. Blond. _No. Can't be._

'Nope. Can't see anyone.' She wasn't going to waste time guessing.

'_Why do fools fall in love?'_ Diana Ross asked some stupid bloody questions, thought Alex, as couples poured on to the dance floor. Jake grabbed her hands and they swung into movement; a while later, he pulled Alex close as the music changed down several gears, and couples around them moved in for the smooch. Two bars into the song and Alex put her mouth to her partner's ear: 'Gasping for a drink, Jake – do you mind?'

He put a brave face on it, and headed for the bar, shoving his way gradually through knots of hot bodies. Alex puffed out a sigh of relief and looked for the door to the bogs – anywhere to escape for a bit. It was time to lose Jake – she didn't want him thinking he was going to take her home. He seemed quite sweet, and was certainly attractive – but she didn't want him. Wanted someone else.

Alex glanced across the floor and saw him. _Can't be. I'm just wishing him here_. But it was definitely Gene. _What the hell's he doing here? _He couldn't have known she'd be here tonight – she hadn't told anyone._ Anyway, he's obviously not here to find me. He can't bring himself to say hello, let alone have even one dance with me._ He was slow dancing with a little blonde who couldn't have been more than twenty; she was twined round him like bindweed, and he didn't look as though he objected. Why should he? She was pretty, feminine, tactile, and up for it – she was making no bones about being available; she was virtually steaming in his arms, looking up at him, batting her eyelashes.

Alex couldn't help thinking about the first encounter with Miranda Carteret. _No. Don't go there._ She cursed softly, berating herself for her multiple stupidities, and turned away, pushing through the door to the bogs. There was a couple snogging in the corridor, so she pushed the fire exit door open and was out in the cold air, among the empty beer kegs and rubbish bins. She stood for a few minutes, dragging dirty London oxygen into her lungs and trying to summon the energy to go back in, find another man to dance with, or go home. It was damned cold for March, she realised, and headed back into the building; she crunched straight into a solid form heading outside, and as she bounced off him, hands grabbed her shoulders. 'Sorry, love,' said Gene, before he realised who he'd got in his hands. 'Bolls... what you doing out here?'

'Having a breather. You?'

'Fag break. Where's your toyboy?'

'At the bar, last time I looked.'

An awkward silence, as they leant against the walls either side of the corridor, not looking at each other, for what seemed like hours.

'Better get back.' Alex spoke, but didn't move. Gene was looking at his feet.

'Enjoying yourself?' he muttered.

Alex looked at him. 'No.' Another pause. 'You?'

Gene looked up at her. 'What do you think?'

Alex stared at him, then sighed. She hated this. 'Then can we stop now?'

'Stop what?'

'Tormenting each other.'

Gene began to speak, but thought better of it. Alex couldn't read his face, didn't know what that burning look was telling her. But whatever he was thinking, it was time to end the game: better to know, either way. Suddenly she thought she'd cry, felt the tears prick, had to breathe deep to stop them spilling. She was trembling, scared of his response, shaken by the fear of a simple question.

'Do you still want me, Gene?'

The silence seemed to go on for so long that she shivered. Gene looked as though she'd kicked him.

'Want you? Are you mad?' he said softly.

Alex couldn't look at him, terrified of seeing the rejection.

'Bolls, come here.' He reached for her, and as their hands touched, the door was flung back on its hinges and two blokes crashed through into the corridor, pissed as rats, giggling, stinking of beer and fags, Sting's voice behind them: _'Every little thing she does is magic....'_

Gene grabbed Alex's hand and dragged her back into the club, looking for the darkest corner, somewhere he could hold her, invisible shadows in the heaving crowd. Sting faded, and Chrissie Hynd's smoky voice took over, the heavy, sexy Pretenders sound drawing Alex to Gene like a pin to a lodestone.

'_When I look up from my pillow, I dream you are here with me....'_

They were fused together, her arms around his neck, his face in her hair, swaying to the slow rhythm. Alex let herself melt into him, every fibre of her body tingling with the sense of him. She turned her face to his, her hand cupping his jaw, breathing him in, intoxicated with him.

Gene pulled back enough to look into Alex's face, his eyes seeking hers, needing to see the answer to his own question reflected there; he felt her arms snake underneath his jacket and round his waist, pulling their bodies together, hot enough to weld steel. He took her face in his hands, stroking his thumbs along her cheekbones, his fingers pushed through her hair, his mouth inches from hers...

'Oi, you bastard, get off her!' Jake thumped Gene on the shoulder, his face full of jealous fury. Gene barely glanced at him, shrugging him off like a horsefly. 'Sod off, kid. You're not wanted.'

Jake grabbed Alex, wrenching her away from Gene. 'Hey – I thought we...'

'No. I'm sorry...'

She got no further, as Gene pulled Jake away from her and shoved him hard in the chest. 'I said, sod off!'

'Gene, don't...'

Gene glared at her. 'Do you want him, then? Make up your bloody mind!'

Alex put both hands on Gene's chest, then lifted one to caress his face. 'Just give me a minute – it's not his fault.' She dropped the ghost of a kiss on his mouth, and turned to Jake, pulling him a few feet away.

She had to put her mouth close to his ear to be heard over the Human League. 'Look – I'm sorry. I thought it was over. Seems I was wrong.' She shrugged, smiling ruefully.

He yelled into her ear. 'He's too old for you. Middle aged porker.'

'I know. Can't be helped,' she laughed. Kissing him on the cheek, she mimed goodbye and turned back to find Gene. He was standing behind them, glowering. Even when Alex put her hands in his, he glared menace at the younger man.

They headed for the exit, but the door was blocked by five foot five inches of blonde outrage. Gene's young decoy was pissed and furious. 'Bastard. Using me to play some pathetic game with your old woman.' She gave Alex the once-over. 'She's almost as old as you and all. Here's the pint you ordered, you wanker...' She flung the beer in Gene's face with enough force to splash over Alex as well. Avenged, the little blonde flounced back into the crowd to cheers.

Alex was giggling helplessly. Gene gave up on a dignified exit, and picking Alex up, carried her out of Camden Palace to the sound of Dexy's Midnight Runners chanting his name.

'_Oh, oh, oh, Geno!'_ sang Alex, wiping beer from her face. Geno dumped her on the pavement, weak with laughter, and they both slumped back against the wall, shoulder to shoulder, gasping. Alex turned her head to look at Gene, reaching for his hand. 'I've never seen you laugh like that. Suits you.'

He squeezed her hand, pivoted to lean against her, press her against the bricks, stroke her face with his palm, the smile in his eyes warming her soul. 'We were rudely interrupted,' he muttered against her mouth; her lips tasted of beer, her mouth of wine. 'You really shouldn't mix grain and grape, Bolls,' he said between kisses. She laughed into his mouth, tasting whisky and smoke, finding softness and strength, aggression and tenderness as they explored each other, heat flaring in the chill spring night.

People spilled out of the club; a couple of wolfwhistles and cheers were enough to drive Alex and Gene away to find his car, hands gripped fast. When they reached the Quattro, parked in Mornington Crescent, Alex hesitated before getting in. 'We're covered in beer – shall we get a cab? You can get the car tomorrow.'

'Get in, Bollyknickers. Nothing wrong with the smell of beer.' He raised his eyebrows and gestured to her to get in the car. She got in the car.

'Where are we going then, Bolls?'

'Take me to paradise, Gene.'

He laughed again. It was irresistible. Alex reached out and put a hand behind his neck, pulling him to her so she could kiss the life out of him until the gear stick became too painful a distraction. Alex pushed Gene away and sat up against the passenger door, panting, hot, and sticky. She stared at him. She grinned a lazy, wicked grin. 'You know where we are.'

Gene raised an eyebrow but kept his mouth shut.

'Mornington Crescent.'

Gene nodded. 'So?'

'It's the last Wednesday in March.'

'And?'

'Covington's Feint. You'll just have to be huffed.'

'What?' Gene gave her the padded-cell look.

'In Mornington Crescent, Covington's Feint states that on the last Wednesday in March, horizontal play is only permissible when a pursuant has been Huffed.'

'What are you talking about, Loopy Lou?'

'_I'm Sorry I Haven't A Clue.'_

'Me neither, darlin'. Although I like the sound of horizontal play. Now come here. As kissing you is the only way to stop your nonsense, I'm going to kiss you senseless...' He leaned across to her, his lips brushing her face. '...if that's all right with you.'

She purred as his tongue touched her lips, and opened her mouth to him, cupping her hand behind his neck, stroking gently, as they tasted each other, losing themselves in the kiss until there was a tap on Alex's window. She jumped, looked round to see a beat bobby peering in at her. Putting a hand over Gene's mouth, she wound the window down and smiled at the nice officer.

'Sorry, Miss. Sir. I must ask you to drive home.' He sniffed at the beer fumes wafting from the car. 'Are you all right to drive, sir? Haven't been drinking?'

Alex put a restraining hand on Gene's thigh. 'No officer, we're fine. Actually,' she simpered for the bobby's benefit, 'we had a bit of trouble at the Palace – someone threw some beer over us, which is why we look a bit bedraggled...' she said coyly, batting her eyelashes at him. Alex could feel Gene seething, but for once he had the sense to keep his mouth shut.

'I see, Miss.' He sounded highly sceptical. Alex forestalled the next question.

'We only live in Chalk Farm, so we'll be home in no time,' she lied.

'All right, Miss. Drive carefully, sir. Goodnight.'

With another coy smile, Alex wound her window up, and Gene started the car. Negotiating traffic, he gave her a sideways look that gave her goosebumps. 'You'd get Torquemada to let you off, with your tarty ways.'

'Want to see if I can persuade you to let me off, if I'm bad later?'

The car swerved a little. Gene gripped the wheel and looked across at her. 'My place?'

'Have you got a shower big enough for two?'

'Yours, then.'

'We are both pretty filthy.'

'Oh, I do hope so.'

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Gene drove them back to Scarborough Street, but he had a Londoner in the passenger seat, and discovered that Alex was keen to pass on her local knowledge.

'Don't go down Hampstead Road – go straight over and down Eversholt Street.... if you go round Lincoln's Inn you can get over to Fleet Street without getting stuck at the Aldwych...'

'_Alex_! if you want to run a school for taxi drivers, be my guest, but don't teach me the Knowledge tonight, OK?'

Alex, who had her hand on Gene's thigh, slid her fingers up to his groin, and murmured: 'Do you want to get home as fast as possible, or do you want to take...' she stroked him lightly. '... the scenic route?'

'Fleet Street, you said?'

Into second gear and screaming round the corner into Chancery Lane, with only a couple of taxis cursing him, Gene thought the Quattro suddenly felt remarkably warm for a cold night. Down to Blackfriars and on to Upper Thames Street, and the Audi tyres smoked all the way downriver to the Tower.

The two of them said little; Alex stroked Gene's thigh, just as a little gentle encouragement. Gene was beyond speech – he was barely able to focus on the road and keep the car in a straight line; herhand was creating havoc with every nerve in his body, and the blood had long since left his brain. All he could think about was getting them back to her flat in one piece. After that, the world could dismantle itself, as long as it did so quietly. He had plans which didn't allow for distractions.

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Neither of them said much more till they got to Alex's flat. As Gene parked and turned the engine off, he looked across at herin the heavy silence, her face tiger striped by the sodium street light streaking in through the windscreen. He reached across and stroked her hair. 'OK?' he asked her softly. She nodded, eyes huge, looking very young. As they reached the street door, Alex held out her hand to him, and led him in silence up the two flights of stairs to the flat; her hand was shaking too much to get the key in the lock, and Gene had to open the door for her. He was about to turn on the light, but she stopped him, needing the discretion of darkness.

The lock clicking shut sounded very loud; there was no sound from downstairs – Luigi must have closed up on time for once. Alex's heart was banging against her ribs; she could hear the blood racing through her veins, feel the butterflies, every raw nerve ending. It had come to this. So many lonely days, empty nights, all the frustrations, so much wasted time. But he was here, standing a touch away from her, in the half-light seeping in from the street, and all she had to do was take one step.

Gene was staring at a dream, and feared he'd only grasp at smoke when he reached out to touch that lovely face. His hand was shaking as he stroked her cheek, and he could feel her trembling. Alex covered his hand with hers, burned a kiss into his palm, and was in his arms, hands at his head, drawing his mouth to hers. It was a kiss of promises and truths. No more half measures, no more waiting.

Alex pressed against him, stroked her fingers through his hair, feathered tiny kisses along his jaw. 'Don't move.' She pulled away from him, crossed the room and pulled the phone jack out of the wall. She returned to Gene's arms and smiled into his eyes. 'No more interruptions. Someone else can save the world tonight.'

Gene took the words out of her mouth, tasting her thoughts, answering with his kiss till she could barely stand.

'Undress me, Gene,' she pleaded.

Without a word he turned her round, reaching over her shoulders to undo her blouse, pushing each pearl button slowly through its hole, his fingers stroking her skin, making her shiver with every delicate touch of his hands. _Such beautiful hands._ He bent to kiss her shoulder, pushing the fabric away to expose her flesh to his lips as the blouse dropped to the floor. Alex gasped, pushing back against him, reaching her hand behind his neck. Gene's breath hissed and he pulled her tight to him, groaning as she writhed against him. 'Alex... _Christ_, I want you so much...'

'Want you now. Gene, please...'

He nipped at her throat, his teeth grazing her flesh, drawing a moan of sheer lust from her. He muttered into her neck, between kisses. 'We've only got one first time. I don't want to rush it. Waited so long... Want to remember every touch, every sound.' He unfastened her bra and pushed it off her shoulders, letting it fall; his hands cupped her breasts and he groaned at their soft, yielding weight. 'Every day since you burst into my life – every day I've dreamed of this. Christ, you feel good, Alex. So beautiful. Even more than I knew...'

His hands went to the zip of her skirt, and moments later it slid to the floor with a hiss of leather against nylon, and Alex stepped out of it, kicking it away. Gene groaned as he smoothed his hand down over her belly and under the black lace; Alex's head tipped back, inviting his kiss as his fingers explored her. She moaned into his mouth, and she reached back to stroke him, already so hard he grunted with the effort of keeping control when she touched him. 'Christ, you're so wet. _Alex_...'

She turned to him, the sexiest woman he'd ever seen, his for the taking. 'My turn,' she growled, pushing off his jacket and dragging off his tie. Gene reached for her breasts, but she pushed his hands away. 'Stand still,' she ordered. She undid the first few buttons of his shirt, holding his eyes with her own until Gene thought he'd ignite. With sudden violence she ripped at his shirt, sending the last few buttons pinging off; she pressed her mouth to his throat, her arms around him, and trailed wet kisses down his chest, sucking at his nipple until he grabbed her head and pulled her mouth to his, the kiss hot, deep, frenzied. She pulled away from him, eyes blazing, and grabbed his belt, unzipping him. She put her lips to his ear and murmured, 'Now we'll see if all those boasts were justified...' She shoved him gently backwards and pushed him down on to the sofa.

'Careful, Bolls. Don't bruise the goods.'

She knelt; just that was almost enough to finish him – so many of his dreams come true in that one moment. She pulled his shoes and socks off; dragged off trousers and pants to leave him free. She looked like the cat who'd got the gold top. 'Well, well. A fine, upstanding member of society, Mr Hunt. I'm very glad to note that you weren't falsifying reports.'

Gene looked disgustingly smug. 'Equipment up to standard, Inspector?'

'Outstanding, Mr Hunt. Question is...' She looked up at him through her lashes as her fingers teased the length of him. 'Do you know what to do with it?'

Gene's eyes glittered. 'Only one way to find out. Care to put it to the test?'

A slow, dangerous smile on her face, Alex stood up, six foot of naked sex in spiked heels and stockings looking down at him. 'Care to follow me into the examination room?' She turned and sashayed into the bedroom, leaving him to scramble up from the sofa, padding after her. She'd turned on a lamp, and was sitting on the edge of the bed, legs spread, leaning back on her hands so her generous breasts were displayed to their glorious best.

'_Jeesus_...' he hissed. _I could come just looking at her._ He fell to his knees, and she put one foot on his chest, the steel tip of the heel cold against his skin. 'Uh-uh. Not so fast. What's the magic word?' She tipped her head back and looked at him down her eagle's nose, lips parted, looking like a king's mistress.

'Please?'

Alex raised one eyebrow. 'Begging already? The magic word, Gene. Say it.'

'I thought please was the magic word.'

'Not here. Say it, Gene.'

'Fuck this for a game of soliders.' He ducked back to get away from the stiletto heel and threw her leg over his shoulder; grabbed her hips and pulled her to him so she fell back, squealing, suddenly at his mercy. 'Magic enough for you?'

She smiled up at him wickedly, stretching her arms over her head. 'Spellbinding.'

He kissed his way up the inside of her thigh till he reached the top of her stocking and the satin flesh above it; Alex was moaning, her hands clutching at the bedcover. Gene snapped the clasps holding the stocking, and rolled the sheer black silk down the long, long leg, pulling off her shoe to free her foot from the sheer fabric. He kissed the naked skin from her toes back up to the top, and repeated the process for her right leg; then removed her suspender belt and – slowly – her knickers. He paused, drinking in the magnificent sight of her, naked, trembling with desire for him – wanting the image painted on his memory till the end of his days.

Alex opened her eyes, saw him watching her, shivered at the blaze in his eyes. 'Gene?'

He held his arms out to her. 'Come here.' She reached for him, was folded into his arms, his face buried in her neck, his lips on her skin, her legs wrapped round his hips. He cupped her head in his hands, looked deep into her eyes, saw no malice, nothing of cruelty or vicious rage. _She's true, my Bolly. No doubts._ He felt some great warm glow fill him till he was dizzy with it, high as any junkie. _Happy. This is what it feels like._ He could feel a smile splitting his face. Not a twitch of the lips but a god-almighty open-hearted grin.

Alex was stunned. The smile transformed him, lit him up from inside so his eyes shone. It gave him an expression of such sweetness... She stroked his cheek. 'Gene...'

'Alex... I love you. _Love you._'

Every thought was blown from her mind as he kissed her, the tenderness flaming into passion, control blasted away by a rush of feeling. He was tasting her, driving her to the brink of madness, his tongue inside her, hot breath on her skin, hands, musician's fingers playing her till her body sang. She was shaking, lost in him.

When he entered her, she gasped, moaning his name; he stopped, holding himself still above her, shaking with the effort. 'Okay?'

'God, Gene, you fill me up.... so big...' She opened her eyes, black with desire. 'Don't stop...' she growled at him.

Long restless nights dreaming of this, months of craving at an end; after all this time, it seemed almost impossible to feel this good, feel her flesh around him, feel her inside his head, reaching into his soul. Godlike. _Bloody heaven. Nothing like this before... No-one... never knew... Could never have enough of this. Want her forever..._

He pushed deep inside her and felt her muscles clench around him, hot and tight. He groaned, thrust again, knew he wasn't going to last long. It was the last coherent thought he had; buried so deep in her, wrapped in her limbs, her moans building into screams as she spiralled up out of control, driving him on and on, deeper and harder...

Alex felt herself unravelling, every cell in her body screaming for release, every muscle shaking with unbearable tension, till she tipped into the welcoming dark, her body convulsing around him, rocking and shuddering as she flooded over him and felt him explode into her, shouting her name, thrusting till he was spent. He collapsed on her, and she wrapped her arms round him, loving the weight of him, the heat of their sweaty bodies heaving for breath, the trembling of exhausted limbs, the intense sweetness of union.

They drifted in the silence, cocooned in utter peace, letting their racing hearts calm and their breathing slow.

Alex turned her head and kissed Gene's ear. 'Worth the wait?' she whispered.

Gene lifted his head to look at her, stroked her face, smiling into her eyes. 'Every minute. Every frustrating bloody second of it. Worth waiting my whole life for that.' He kissed her with infinite tenderness. 'Love you.'

'You too, Gene.'

'You too Gene what?'

'You're not bad for an old bastard.'

He laughed softly.

'What I mean, Gene, is that I love you, Mr Hunt.'

There was a small silence.

'That's...' His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. 'That's good, because I think my cock is wedged inside you , so we may never be able to get dressed again.'

She laughed at that, a throaty chuckle. 'You silver-tongued devil, you. I can think of worse fates.' She pushed him off her, rolling with him and kissing his chest. 'But you still taste of beer, and you only came here for a shower. Get in there, you dirty beast.'

'Aren't you coming?'

'Quite soon, with a bit of luck, and again a bit later.' She waggled her eyebrows, and Gene felt his cock twitch. _Quite soon._

Alex gave him a shove. 'Go on. I'll be in to make sure you've washed behind your ears.'

He disappeared, and she heard the rush of water and tuneless whistling. She flopped back on the pillow and flung her arms wide, taking a heaving breath and letting it go in a long sigh. Her body was humming, tingling. _Alive, really alive. To hell with time and logic. Truth is Gene Hunt in my bed. Gene Hunt, best lover of my life. The Manc Lion, my beloved. Gene and Alex. Alex Hunt._ She scrambled out of bed, startled by her schoolgirl fantasy. _Stop it. I need a shower. Clear my head._ She giggled, knowing that the planned shower would do anything but.

She shivered in the chill air and ran the few steps to the bathroom. The whole room was full of steam, with Gene humming as he stood under the cascade with his back to her.

Alex stepped in to join him, goosing him. He jumped, banging his elbow against the tiled wall.

'Christ! I'd forgotten about you. That almost broke my arm. You ought to be locked up.'

'Take me down, then, DCI Hunt.'

'You are _such_ a tart.'

'Take a bite, then, officer. Look, here's a couple of berries to get your lips round.'

'Where? Oh, there. Are they ripe?'

'Have a feel. See what you think.'

'_Hmmm_. Feel good.' He was breathing hard. 'Feel about ready.'

'Then I think you should taste, just to make sure.' She reached up above her head and grasped the top of the shower panel.

'Christ – demanding bloody woman. The things I have to do.' He ran his hand slowly from her hip up to her ribcage, making her shudder. 'Just a little taste. Just to be polite...' Gene bent to his task, cupping her breast and taking the nipple into his mouth, sucking and licking, the water streaming down their bodies. His tongue was driving Alex demented; she gasped as his fingers trailed down her belly and pushed inside her. '_Oh god_... don't be polite. Rude is... _ahhh_... _good_...' She moaned, arching her spine to pushing her breast into his mouth and her pelvis down on to his hand. He brought her quickly to climax, and she slumped, shuddering, into his arms, kissing his shoulder, gasping for breath under the pouring water.

She felt something nudging at her hip and looked down. 'Oh, look. Seems you have the horn. You ready for a tune, maestro?'

'I'm ready for something,' he muttered against her skin.

She reached down and took the instrument in her hand, squeezing gently.

He groaned, resting his forehead against hers. 'It's all take, take, take with you, isn't it.' He grunted as she squeezed a little harder. 'Oh, go on, then. Help yourself. Don't mind _me_.' The last word was a groan as Alex knelt and took him into her mouth, as he propped himself against the shower walls. She was making good progress when the water began to feel distinctly warm, rather than hot. 'Oh, fuck, it's going cold. Don't stop, Bolls, I'm... _ahhhhh_... almost... _Christ_... there...' Dropping quickly through tepid to cool, the water gushed over them as Alex worked him skillfully, but it was the sudden rush of icy water that shocked Gene into orgasm, cursing like an estuary fishwife as he came in her mouth. Shaking from cold and coitus, he pulled a shivering, giggling Alex to her feet and they stumbled out of the shower, pulling towels round themselves and scurrying back to bed. They dived under the duvet and huddled together, Gene rubbing her back roughly and Alex rubbing his hair dry with one of the towels.

'That was kinky,' Gene said when his teeth stopped chattering.

'There's a bottle of Scotch by the cooker.'

He leapt out of bed, skidded into the kitchen, grabbed the bottle and the one glass on the draining board, and slid back under the covers within thirty seconds.

Thirty minutes later they were warm, half pissed, and half asleep, Gene's head on Alex's shoulder, one leg wedged between hers, one hand possessively on her breast.

Alex was fiddling with the sticking plaster on Gene's right shoulder, which had come half unstuck in the shower. 'You need a new dressing, my love. Want me to do it for you?'

Gene jerked awake and rolled away from her, sitting forward so his arm was out of her reach. 'No.'

'Gene.'

'I don't want you to see it.'

Alex moved so she could face him. 'Gene. This has gone on for weeks. You have to trust someone.' She put a hand under his jaw and turned his head towards her. 'If you love me, surely you can let me help with this. A scar, right?'

'Yes. One I have to carry for the rest of my life. It makes me sick.'

'Did you choose it?'

'No.'

'Could you stop them doing it?'

'No.'

'Then how can it shame you? It's no reflection on you. Was it Haggerty who did it?'

He sighed. 'Bastard. No, not him, although turns out he was watching. It was Jack Carteret. And Miranda. He did the cutting. I don't know who hit me. Him, probably, although she's vicious enough.'

Alex put a hand to the plaster. 'Okay if I take it off?'

Gene looked at her for a moment, then nodded. Alex's eyes filled with tears when she saw the swastika sliced into the skin over his deltoid muscle. She ran her fingers lightly over the scar and bent to kiss it. 'Your poor arm. The _bastards_. This was _torture_. You must have been in agony. My poor darling love. I wish you'd been able to tell me so you weren't so alone.'

'Me too, Bolls. But didn't know what to believe. Where I stood with you. Haggerty told me...' He saw her face. 'I know. I'm sorry. It was my worst nightmare. You... _like them_... It was like being poisoned.'

'Tell me, Gene. Nothing you say will make me love you less. Get rid of it all.'

So he told her.

He spewed it all out as they lay spooned together, Alex holding him close, letting him talk into the dark. She was horrified at what he'd gone through, the strength it must have taken; admiring the judgement he'd shown, telling Dorney when he did.

'Dorney told me to tell you. He seemed to know about us before we did. I underestimated him.'

'What about Carol?'

'I learned not to underestimate Carol a long time ago. She's a good friend. She saw the scar but she doesn't know what happened.'

'Tell her. Only what you can; but she's worried about you. She's another one who saw through us. Oh, and I tell you who else. Cruickshank. He knew I'd defied his orders not to tell you anything. Must have had me bugged. Heard everything.'

'Smooth, spooky bastard. He wants to get into your knickers.'

'He's just a friend. It's possible, no matter what Harry told Sally.'

'Who?'

'Never mind. Cruickshank said he thought it was "charming". Me telling you everything. Said it was obvious you and I were... you know...'

Gene laughed. 'Charming? That's not in the Branch dictionary. He's a ringer.'

She kissed the nape of his neck. 'Seems everyone knew except you and me.'

He twisted round to face Alex and pulled her into his arms. 'We know now. No more lonely nights.' He kissed her, thankful beyond words.

'Ready for Dr Drake's Patent Remedy for Old Wounds?'

'Depends... What's in it?'

'A short burst of exercise to be taken on the horizontal plane, followed by three hours undisturbed sleep. To be repeated at frequent and regular intervals. And accompanied with the healing oath.'

'Oath?'

'I. Love. You.'

'_Hmph_. Quite like the sound of that.' He burrowed a hand below the covers. 'Here – you grab hold of _this_ and if I... put my finger... _there_...'

She squealed, and gasped, and joined in.

xxxxxxxxxxx

'Whass time?'

Gene looked blearily at his watch but it wasn't there. He'd taken it off before their shower. 'Dunno, Bolls. S'light, so must be after seven.'

Alex stretched like a cat, her spine flexing, limbs extended in an elegant arc. Then she curled around him and rested her cheek against his before looking into his eyes, the bright, rock-pool eyes. 'I love you, Gene Hunt.'

He kissed her, the lightest of lingering kisses, then said against her lips. 'Love you too, and I said it first.'

Without moving an inch, she smiled, supercilious. 'Actually, you didn't.'

His eyes narrowed. 'Bloody did. Said it last night before you did.'

She dabbed a kiss on his nose. 'Yes, my love. But I said it weeks ago.'

'What, in Swahili?' He growled at her before kissing her again. 'Don't believe you, Bolly.'

'When I came back from the safe house and found you in my bed. You said you dreamt about me that night.'

'_Mmmm_. Good dream...'

'No dream. I was doing this...' She snuggled into him, kissed the hollow at the base of his throat, until he grabbed her and pushed her on to her back.

'You're a minx. Taking advantage of a defenceless, _wounded_ man. Reprehensible, DI Drake...'

'You didn't complain. Anyway, that's when I told you.'

'I was unconscious, you daft tart. Doesn't count.'

She put a hand to his face, stroked his cheek tenderly. 'Counted for me, my love. I hadn't realised how much, till then. Seeing you with the kids at Alex Price's birthday party... So gentle. They loved you.' She pulled his head down to hers and whispered, ashamed to say it aloud. 'God help me, I was jealous of little Alex.'

Gene stroked her hair, kissing her forehead. 'You have no idea how much I wanted you in my arms that day. You looked so lonely. As if you needed someone, for once. My fierce, independent Bolly looking like a sad little girl. Precious little difference between you and little Alex, that day. That hug was for you, really.'

'_Gene_... You have no idea...' Alex felt tears roll hot from the corners of her eyes, to be kissed away by her lover. She looked into his eyes. 'And then my beautiful birthday present. Thoughtful, clever, generous man.'

'You said thank you very nicely, if I remember. Is that what they taught you at your posh totty school?'

She giggled. 'They didn't foresee that turn of events. I had to improvise.'

'So what's the protocol after a topnotch rogering?'

Alex gave him a slow, considered look. 'I'm not entirely sure. I'll have to improvise some more...'

xxxxxxxxxx

They woke again just after nine, and while Gene had a shower, Alex flung on a sweater and leggings, put the kettle on, found a pen and paper, and started drawing.

By the time Gene was dressed and had wandered into the kitchen for tea and toast, Alex had something to show him. 'Here, Gene, look at this. I woke up with an idea.' She pushed the piece of paper towards him along the counter top, and he stared at it.

'A chess piece.' It was a square, quartered in black and white, with a black knight on one of the white quarters.

'Exactly. A knight.'

'I don't play chess.'

'Doesn't matter. Don't you see? Look.' With the pen, she traced the lines of a swastika through the black and white squares. 'See? A tattoo. Fill in the two black squares and the black knight, and put a border round the whole thing. _Abracadabra_. Sexy tattoo, no more scar.'

Gene stared at the little drawing. He shifted from one foot to another and took a deep breath. 'Do you know what, Bolls?'

She looked anxious. 'What?'

He turned on his heel and bent at the waist, so he was nose to nose with her. 'You. Are. Brilliant.' He leaned forward another few inches and dabbed a kiss on her smiling mouth. But that didn't seem good enough, and he put his arms round her and pulled her close for a different sort of kiss, altogether more distracting, and the toaster started belching black fumes before they broke apart.

'Shit. That was the last of the bread. There's crispbread. Or muesli.'

Gene looked disgusted. 'No, ta.'

'Bacon sarnie at Bridie's?'

'Need to keep my strength up, Bolly. You're a demanding woman. Could be the death of me.'

Alex looked shattered. 'Don't...'

Gene took her hand. 'Joke, Bolls.'

'Even as a joke. Please, my love.' There were tears in her eyes.

He pulled her into his arms. '_Alex_... you're stuck with me, now.' He kissed the top of her head, possible when she was in her socks. 'I'm going to see Danny Plum.' Seeing the unspoken question on her face, he explained. 'He's a little scrote who owes me several favours, and owns a tattoo parlour behind Leman Street.' He scooped up Alex's chess drawing and stuffed it in his pocket. 'Then I'm going to see Firoz. So I'll see you over the road in a couple of hours.' He kissed her quickly and went to the door. Then he came back, looking a bit shifty. 'Er... I can come back here tonight?'

Alex looked petulant. 'Maybe... One on condition.'

'What?'

'You come and say goodbye nicely enough to keep me going.'

Gene sighed theatrically and crossed the room. He pecked her on the cheek. 'Satisfied?'

'No.'

He put an arm round her shoulders and kissed her fiercely, deeply, bending her backwards over the work top, pushing his other hand into her knickers, long fingers pushing into her, thumb doing unspeakable things to sensitive bits of her until she was moaning into his mouth, quivering like a cello string. It took him just over a minute to reduce her to a moaning, trembling wreck. He hooked a foot round the leg of a kitchen chair and dragged it over so he could sit her down, since she was incapable of standing unaided.

'Goodbye, my love. I'll let you get your own back tonight. If I'm invited.'

Alex nodded, beyond speech, and watched as her lover swept out of the flat to set the world back on its axis.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

TBC


	27. War and peace

_As ever, huge thanks to Wombledon for brilliant beta work but particularly in this chapter for her extraordinary knowledge and advice. Warning - not all characters make it through to ch28._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The call came through at midday.

'Alex, darling, how lovely…' It was Harry Haggerty. Alex gestured frantically to Ray to get the call traced and taped.

'Who is this?'

'You can't have forgotten me already, darling. By the way, the trace is a waste of effort; my call's being relayed through some clever technology via a phone a long way from where I'm standing, so you've got no chance.' He chuckled. 'Amazing what you learn after a couple of years in Special Branch.'

'What do you want, Haggerty?'

At Alex's mention of the name, the room fell silent.

Harry chuckled. 'I _want_ those luscious lips around my dick, but at this precise moment I _need_ to give you a tip-off.'

'Well – what?'

'Oh, shame. You were supposed to say "Give it to me, Harry."'

Alex said nothing.

After a moment, Harry sighed. 'Spoilsport. Okay, there'll be another big bang today, somewhere full of important people. I'll ring and let you know where a bit nearer the time, but I thought some advance warning would give you all time to run around flapping. The thought amuses me.'

'What time, you bastard? Where? _Where?_'

As she spoke, Gene crashed through the doors, bullish and loud. 'Right, you lot of…'

He was hushed by the entire team, waving at him and pointing at Alex, who had a hand over her ear.

'Don't shout. You go all shrill. Most unattractive. Oh – and was that DCI Cunt's dulcet tone I heard just then? Blow him a kiss from me and tell him I'll have his balls before the end of the day. Catch you later, gorgeous. Oh, and make sure you're standing by the phone. I won't speak to anyone else when I call again.'

Alex hung up, glanced at Gene, before turning to Ray. 'How much of that did we get on tape?'

'Dunno. Last few seconds, maybe.' He lifted his phone and dialled.

'Talk to me, Bolly. Who was that?'

'Haggerty. With a warning.'

'Another panzerwotsit? Today? Where?'

'Don't know. He's ringing back with specifics later. All he said was that it was somewhere "full of important people".'

Gene pulled off his gloves. 'Drake – you ring Cruickshank, then come and tell me exactly what Dickshit said. I'll speak to Dorney. Jaspan – get hold of DCI Clark. Lucas – find DI Wimbledon and get him in here.' As he passed Shaz's desk, he put in his order. 'Tea, Granger. Industrial strength, and I hope you've got a cupboard full of biscuits. It's going to be a long day.'

With everyone briefed and the alert gone out, there was nothing to do but wait. Gene and Alex retreated to the kitchen, and he backed her against the wall, out of sight, with his hands either side of her head, his body hot and only inches from hers.

She put her hands on his chest, holding him off. She spoke softly, holding his gaze. 'If you kiss me, you'll get a hard-on, and we'll get caught. We can't catch Haggerty and Carteret if all we can think about is how good it feels with you inside me…'

'_Fuck_, Bolls. You're giving me the 'orn just thinking about it…' He pushed himself upright and took three steps back, to lean against the worktop. 'How come you've caught common sense all of a sudden?'

'Because at this precise minute, I want to catch those bastards marginally more than I want to be shagged senseless by a black knight. How does it look, by the way?'

Gene's lips twitched. 'He did a good job. Made a slight amendment to your design, but you'll have to wait. Can't strip off in here. Don't look at me like that, Bolls, or I'll not be responsible.'

'Sandwich, Guv?' Shaz appeared with a tray of food.

'Go away, Granger.'

'No, don't, Shaz. I'm starving.' Alex reached for the sandwiches and grabbed a handful. 'Where did you get these?'

'Guv sent me out for them, Ma'am.'

Gene, defeated by women, gave in, and took a handful for himself. 'Too much going on to let them out for lunch.' Stuffing a cheese and pickle triangle in his mouth, he wandered back out to the office and clapped his hands for attention. Everyone was eating, but at least it meant he wouldn't be interrupted by inane comments. 'Right. If this all kicks off, we won't all be called in. Since these arseholes aren't exactly reliable, truthful types, they may be setting up a hoax to take our attention away from the real target. So…'

Alex's phone rang. Gene barked at Ray. 'Record it. Running?'

Ray nodded.

'Bolly?' He looked at her, and put his hand round the second receiver, waiting till she was ready to pick up.

'Okay, Guv.' They picked up the receivers, and Alex spoke. 'Yes.'

'Allo, allo, ma chère. I will say zis only once, because I assume you're recording it. What you need was delivered about an hour ago to the children's ward at the London. We thought the little darlings might like a nice puzzle to amuse them.'

'Which ward? One child in particular?'

'I won't spoil your fun, Ally, my darling. But I'm sure you'll recognise the card when you see it. Don't hang about – not long to go now before the party starts. Let's have lunch when this is all over.' He blew two kisses, and hung up.

Gene wasted no time. 'It's almost three o'clock. Bastards. Lucas, get up to the London. Take a panda and put the siren on. By the time you get there we'll know which ward you need. Bolls…'

Alex reached the children's ward sister after five minutes of frustration, and explained what she needed.

'Yes. We thought it was odd, not addressed to any one child, and delivered by a priest. None of the Brick Lane children are Christians.'

'Describe the card, please.'

'It's a picture of a motorbike. A Harley Davidson. There's a message inside.'

'Read it slowly. I'll write it down.'

'Okay. Ready?'

'Yes.'

'It says: _"It's time for Crackerjack. Find an airey place between Ben and the martyr for a song and a dram with Lennox."_ That's all. It's not signed.'

Alex read it back to her. 'Is that the exact wording? And every word?'

'Yes. But 'airy' is spelled wrong.'

'Spell it as it's written.'

'A-I-R-E-Y.'

'Okay. Anything else odd? Nothing on the back, or on the envelope?'

'No. The envelope was blank.'

'Right, Sister, thank you. Sgt Lucas will be with you in the next few minutes to collect the card.'

Alex relayed the ward information to Lucas, and rang through to Viv. 'We've got another cryptic clue for you, Viv.'

Shaz made photocopies of it, while Alex phoned Cruickshank, gave him the clue, then dictated it to his secretary for her to send round the team. By the time she was done, Jaspan and Viv had worked half of it out.

'_It's Friday, it's five to five, and it's Crackerjack_. Is that the time? Four fifty-five?'

Viv scratched his chin. 'Ben and the martyr. It's the Houses of Parliament. Between Big Ben and St Stephen's Tower.'

'Great, Viv. Anyone else?' Gene looked round.

Womble hesitated, but pointed at the word 'airey'. 'If it's Parliament, I don't think they mean an open air place, Guv. I think that's Airey Neave.'

Gene put both hands on his head. 'MP blown up in his car. Where was it, exactly?'

'In the entrance to the underground car park in the Commons yard, Guv.'

'Bolls – get back to Cruickshank and tell him.'

By the time the Quattro reached County Hall, Westminster Bridge had been closed, and the plods had to radio for authorisation, leaving Gene fuming at the barrier. Millbank, Whitehall and Parliament Square were all blocked off, and the emergency services were standing by. Two police launches and three inflatable dinghies were covering the river between Westminster and Lambeth Bridges, and there were armed D11 officers moving into place.

'Carteret _will_ be pleased. All these lovely blue lights, all for him. His peperami will be at full attention, the wanker. I do hope it's a serious overreaction – the first attack resulted in a nose bleed, a papercut and a bit of work for a stonemason.'

'Maybe that's it, Guv.' Chris piped up. 'Aren't Grenville and Carteret masons?'

'Hit him, Ray. Shut up, Christopher, you basket case.'

'Sorry, Guv.'

'Don't mind him, Chris. At least you're trying to work it out. No-one's got the answers yet. Keep thinking.' Alex gave Gene a look. Gene returned it.

'You're in a good mood today, Guv.'

'Yes, Chris. I won a raffle. The key to a box of delights.'

'That's nice. I never win prizes.'

Alex turned and smiled at him. 'You won Shaz. That's a pretty good prize, Chris.'

Ray rolled his eyes and turned away.

The plod came back, had a word with his mate, and waved Gene through the barrier.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

By four, the evacuation of the Palace of Westminster was almost complete, with members, peers, staff and assorted hangers-on either on their way home or standing in Parliament Square watching and talking: scared, excited, bored. Lobby journalists, ecstatic to be inside the magic circle, were chattering to colleagues over the police barriers, or fighting for possession of the phone boxes inside the cordon. The day was warm for early spring, and the exclusion zone meant that songbirds could be heard, for once. Not for long, though, as the TV helicopters turned up to hover above the square for shots of Big Ben and scurrying police, flashing lights and power brokers: the parliamentary populace reduced to refugees in the afternoon sun. Democracy evicted.

Having sent Ray and Chris to help Jaspan when they arrived, Gene and Alex found Cruickshank on Westminster Bridge, just ending an interview with a BBC TV crew, with Womble standing a few feet away.

Despite the questions still being called across the barrier, Cruickshank turned away and led the three of them out of reach of microphones and cameras. 'We got a pipe bomb in Annie's Bar…'

'_Lennox_… of course. The song and the dram…'

'Alex?'

'Sorry, sir. We didn't get that bit.'

'Fire extinguisher right in the middle of the room; people were just walking around it. So much for vigilance. The Bomb Squad have got it – we don't know if it's live. Nor do we know if it's the only one. As it was so obviously placed for us, we're assuming it's a decoy, so we're still searching.'

'What damage would it have done?'

Cruickshank looked to Womble to explain. 'The Oktoberfest bomb was a fire extinguisher filled with one point four kilos of high explosive. That killed thirteen and injured a lot more. We don't know what's in this one yet. But if you think that one gram of solid TNT turns into a litre of gas. One thousand, four hundred grams in a thick metal container. That's a lot of shrapnel and a very big shock wave.'

'_Jesus_…' Gene was horrified, and Alex thought of what he had to look forward to: Manchester, Canary Wharf, 9/11…

'Sir?' Graham Clark was running over to them. 'First bulletins are out. ITN, Radio Four and the Telegraph have had notices talking about the Kalki stuff.'

'How did they arrive?'

'Motorbike couriers. We're tracking them back, but the odds are on a hairy specky priest with a handful of cash.'

'Priests.' Gene used the word like an expletive. 'No-one looks at priests. They see a frock and a beard and nothing else.'

Clark's radio spat. He pressed the button. 'Yes, Snapper, what?'

'Spokesman for British Democratic Party on air, Guv, spouting about Asian immigrants wanting to destroy democracy and the British way of life.' The distorted voice was all too clear.

'Hear that, sir?'

'Yup.' Cruickshank looked at the group. 'He's pretty bloody fast off the mark. Fascist bastard. Looks like you're right on the money, Gene. False flag terror. The old ones are the best, eh? Graham, pick up Grenville.'

At quarter to four, Cruickshank pulled everyone out of the building. Gene was with Cruickshank inside the Parliament Square railings, where the bomb squad was still searching the yard; Alex and Jaspan were on the river side, at the western end of the terrace.

Gene looked up at the iconic building, Big Ben's tower glowing gold in the afternoon sun. 'It's nine months early, all this.'

Cruickshank turned. 'What?'

'Remember, remember the fifth of November. Guy Fawkes's idea of electoral reform.'

'History repeats itself. We never learn, though, do we?' Cruickshank sounded bitter.

'As long as I get to light the bonfire with Carteret on it.' The smile on Gene's face sent a shiver down Cruickshank's spine.

A young constable, sweating in his borrowed armour, ran up to Gene. 'DCI Hunt? Message for you from DI Drake. Something about a swastika?'

'Where is she?' Gene barked.

'Annie's Bar, sir.'

Gene bolted back into the building at a run, ignoring the shouts behind him. Cruickshank was on the radio. 'Jim? You with Alex?'

'Yes, sir. On the terrace.'

'Did Alex send a message to DCI Hunt?'

'No. Where is he?'

'Heading for Annie's Bar. _Shit_…' Cruickshank turned to the officer next to him. 'Get Gene Hunt out of there _now_.' He glanced at his watch. Four fifty one. Back on the radio, he yelled at Jaspan: 'Don't let Alex into the building. Get back to Victoria Gardens.'

But Alex had heard, and was running through the open terrace doors back into the bar, screaming for Gene. Jaspan, cursing, was on her heels, yelling into the radio to alert Cruickshank. On the terrace, a heavily armoured officer sprinted after them, dragging off his helmet and flinging it aside. It was Haggerty.

'_Alex_… Alex! _Get out!_'

She didn't hear either of her pursuers, focused only on finding Gene, but the bar was deserted.

Jaspan hurled himself in through the doors after her. '_Alex, keep running_ – go through the building. Get Gene out!'

Haggerty was right behind him, yelling at her. '_Alex… this way_! Faster this w…'

Harry's voice stopped Alex in her tracks, and she turned to see him struggling with Jaspan who was yelling over his shoulder. '_Go_, Alex, find Gene – _get out_…'

'_Alex!_' Gene's voice, roaring from the corridors deep in the building. She ran. Out of the bar, down the corridor, round a corner and into a wide lobby. Gene skidded round a corner at the far end. She yelled to him. '_Gene_… Jim… Harry – the bar… got to…'

There was a huge thump and a bang, and Alex was knocked flying, landing flat on her face. She was getting to her knees when a cloud of dust and debris hit her, flattening her again, swirling into her eyes and into nose and mouth as she gasped for breath. Choking, eyes streaming, her ears ringing, she dragged herself to her feet and was almost knocked flying by a solid form barrelling through the dust.

'Alex!'

'Gene… _Gene_…' She clutched on to him, felt blindly with one hand till she could feel his face.'

'Ow! That's my bloody eye, you daft tart…' He got a mouthful of hair and debris as Alex flung both arms round his neck and sobbed his name over and over. He crushed her to him for a second, suddenly aware of how lucky he was to have her still. Then he was helping her towards the Central Lobby and out into the sweet cool air of traffic-ridden London. 'Come on, Bolls, get you out…'

She struggled, trying to pull back into the building. 'Jim… he's in the bar. Got to find him…'

'They'll find him, Bolls. People who can see straight will do a better job. You'll just get in their way. They'll get him out.' Gene muttered to her like a horse whisperer, his voice steady and soft, gentling her into compliance.

Another pair of arms took her from Gene and sat her down, hands feeling, probing, squeezing gently. Stranger's voice. London voice. 'Does it 'urt anywhere, darling? She shook her head, tried to speak but choked, coughing violently on dust and grit. The man tried to wipe her face, and she put up a hand to show she was okay, to ask him to stop prodding, to leave her be.

'Want to get some of this crap off you, darlin'. It's not just dust. Tiny splinters of wood and glass and brick and all sorts. Cut you like tiny razors if you're not careful. Just sit still for a minute and I'll get the worst off your face.'

She complied while he swabbed gently, feeling the stuff like sandpaper on her skin as he dabbed it away.

Opening her eyes she blinked furiously, tears streaming, trying to see. A tall grey figure was standing by an ambulance, swatting someone away. Gene, covered head to foot in the same foul stuff. Coughing, Alex got to her feet and went across to him. He blinked at her, dust on the long eyelashes, eyes bloodshot, tiny flecks of blood here and there among the grit and filth.

'You look like a piece of modern art.' He croaked like a bullfrog with laryngitis.

'So do you.' She touched his hand, wanting to kiss him and kiss him.

'This is going to clog up your shower drain.' He laughed, then coughed with such force he almost fell over.

'We'll have to put ourselves through the car wash. Without the c…' She stopped as she saw a stretcher – two – being carried towards the line of ambulances. 'Jim…' At a stumbling run she reached the first, but it was a policeman she didn't know, gasping in pain, a piece of glass sticking out of his neck. 'God… please god… please god…' She was muttering instinctively, going to the second stretcher. Another policeman, conscious. _Oh, Christ. Harry_. 'Harry. You're alive.' She didn't know if she was supposed to be relieved or outraged. 'Where's Jim? _Did you leave Jim in there?_'

His eyes slewed to meet hers, and as he recognised her under the dust, he smiled slowly, reaching out to touch her. He tried to say her name, but as his mouth opened, he coughed, spraying blood, blood rushing from his nose, spilling from his lips. His face stilled, the eyes fixed on her.

'Move, love. Now...' The ambulance man shouldered her out of the way, shoved the stretcher in the vehicle, slammed the doors, and ran to the driver's door. Sirens shrieking, the ambulances moved off, a short journey across the bridge to St Thomas's. Too long for Harry. One Harley-Davidson for sale.

Alex went from uniform to uniform, asking for Jaspan. 'Have you seen him? He was in the bar… Please… Jim Jaspan. Where is he? Have you got him out? Please. Please…' Hands on her shoulders, firm, turning her round. 'Come on, Alex. Time to get you both home. It's all over. Come on.' Cruickshank steered her to a patrol car and helped her into the back seat. Thirty seconds later, Gene got in the other side, and pulled her into his arms, rocking her gently as they were driven back to Scarborough Street.

Safe in the flat, Gene helped Alex undress before shedding his own clothes, and they stepped into the shower together; she leaned against him under the deluge as he washed his head and neck briskly. Then, tenderly, he sluiced the debris from Alex's hair and face, gently stroking her body with soapy hands till she felt clean. He got out of the shower, wrapped a big towel round her and lifted her out to stand on the bathmat with him, to be rubbed dry. When he turned to get a towel for her hair, Alex noticed the sticking plaster on his right arm, and touched it softly. 'Gene – the tattoo. It seems like a year since you went off to see Danny Pear.'

'Plum. A year? And the rest. Can't see it yet. Have to keep it dry.'

'Did he do the knight?

'Of course.'

'Gene… Sir Gene…' She kissed the tattoo and leaned against him, nestling into his neck and closing her eyes. He picked her up and carried her to bed; she was asleep before they left the bathroom.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Knocking on the door. _Who…? Shit…_ Gene got out of bed, wrapped a towel round his waist and answered the summons. It was Cruickshank, with a holdall in one hand and a carrier bag in the other. He gave the holdall and a bunch of keys to Gene. 'Clothes. Your sergeant fetched them from home, and got you a Chinese on the way back. Your car's outside.'

Gene threw on jeans and a jersey and padded barefoot back into the kitchen to find Cruickshank come over all domestic, fossicking around with plates and forks. 'You can eat whenever you're ready.'

'Cheers, sir. Drink?'

'Yes. Thanks.'

Gene left him to find the Scotch and went in to the bedroom. Alex was awake, still pale, but no longer in shock. He got her up and dressed, and they found Cruickshank in the black leather chair, nursing his whisky, long legs stretched in front of him.

'How are you, Alex? Sorry to disturb you, but I thought you'd sleep better if you knew what had happened. Stop you wondering.'

'Hello, sir. I think you're right. Thanks.'

'Look, can we drop the formality for this evening? I think this constitutes off-duty, so call me Brian.'

Gene nodded. 'Good of you to come round, sir. Brian.' He sat next to Alex on the sofa.

Cruickshank smiled. 'See? Not a cigarette card between you.'

Alex smiled, blushing. Gene looked at her, looked at Cruickshank, and snorted. 'I've told her she needs a bigger sofa.' He put an arm round her and dropped a kiss on her hair. _My girl_.

They sat in silence for a moment before Cruickshank sighed. 'You don't want to ask, and I don't want to answer. Jim Jaspan. There was no sign of him, Alex. Did you actually see him in Annie's Bar?'

'He ran in after me, then he turned back to stop Haggerty. Jim told me to find Gene, and I… left him… struggling…' She couldn't go on.

'They found the radio, and his wallet, among the debris. But no sign of him.'

'But Haggerty…'

'He was thrown into one corner. Very few external injuries except for some bruising and slight lacerations. But he was dead on arrival at hospital. Internal injuries from the blast, probably. We'll know more after the post mortem.'

'The other officer – he had something in his neck…' Alex could still see it.

'They've got the metal out, but they won't know for another few days whether he'll survive the blast.'

Gene squeezed Alex's shoulder. 'Is there any chance Jim could have got out?'

'I don't know. Unless he turns up, it's down to SOCO and forensics to piece it all together. I hate having to say this, but I suspect he took the full force of the blast.'

She couldn't look at him. Jim Jaspan had been their ally, had been her friend.

Gene put his hand round hers and lifted the glass to her lips until she took a sip for herself. He looked at Cruickshank. 'Was it another pipe bomb?'

'No. Another panzerfaust. Bigger than before. Might have been a modern one; bomb squad says the blast was too big for even the fastest of a wartime version. Fired from the river. One of the River Police inflatables wasn't on police business. Two men in uniform, so right that no-one questioned them. Exactly on time, one of the men took the weapon from under a tarpaulin, put it on his shoulder, sighted it, and fired. He was immediately shot dead by an armed officer on the nearest launch, and the other man was shot when he fired a service revolver at them. Which is a fucking disaster from the point of tying the attack to Grenville and Carteret, but it looks as though they were suicides.'

'Suicides?' Gene frowned; unlike the other two, he was unused to the idea of suicide bombers.

'Kamikazes.'

'Hmm. And the actually mortar hit the bar?' Gene asked.

'Yes. More by luck than judgement, fired from the water like that. It went through the open doors and hit the top of the back wall. All the force in these things is designed to punch forwards through tank armour, but inside a building the shock wave would bounce off the walls, floor and ceiling and send the blast through the corridors, which is why you got blown off your feet. You're were bloody lucky, Alex. Two seconds earlier and you'd have been seriously injured. Pair of fucking idiots, running into a bomb target. Stupid, very brave, and bloody lucky.'

Gene looked defiant, Alex close to tears.

'Don't give me that, either of you. By the book, you should be carpeted for it. Personally, I don't see what else you could or should have done.' Cruickshank got to his feet and stretched, his fingers hitting the ceiling. 'I'll leave you to sleep. Dorney doesn't expect to see you until Monday.'

Gene stood, and helped Alex up. She crossed to Cruickshank and reached up to kiss his cheek. 'Thanks for coming, Brian. It was kind of you. We'll all miss him.'

Holding out his hand to the Branch boss, Gene sucked in a deep breath. 'There aren't many men I look up to, Brian, in any sense. You did a remarkable job today, sir. And I appreciate your friendship this evening. I owe you.'

Cruickshank shook Gene's hand and held his gaze for a moment. 'You're an unusual man and a rare copper, Gene. You hide a good deal behind your reputation; I'm very glad to have seen behind the mask. I want you both to know you can count on me.' He put on his jacket, opened the door, and was gone.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Firoz Saleh's father was at the boy's bedside when Alex and Gene turned up just after lunch on Friday. He was holding his child's hand and rocking back and forth, muttering what might have been prayers; Firoz was asleep, or at least had his unbandaged eye closed. Mirza, they were told by the nurse on duty, was improving quickly and was due to go home the following week. Firoz… her expression suggested an uncertain future.

After ten minutes with Mirza, Alex went across to the corner bed. 'Mr Saleh.' She touched his shoulder lightly, and the man looked up at her, eyes red from weeping, face gaunt, the skin dry and papery. He could only have been in his early thirties, but he looked old, squeezed dry of life.

'My name is Alex Drake, and this is Gene Hunt…'

At their names, Firoz woke, smiling weakly. 'You came back.' His voice was a thread of sound. Gene came over, with Mirza hanging on to his hand.

'Hello, you noisy fellow. Been causing trouble again?' Gene put a hand to the child's head, and his smile widened to a grin.

'Who are you? Why are you talking to my son?' The man was outraged.

Alex spoke to him calmly, not wanting Firoz in the way of his father's anger. 'We're police officers, Mr Saleh. Can we talk for a minute?' She gestured to him to follow her, but the man would not be lured from his son's side.

'No, we cannot _talk_. I don't want you here. You are upsetting my son. Go away and let him rest.'

'But…'

'Go away. Leave us alone.'

'Papa, they're my friends.'

'No, Firoz. You need peace. Rest.'

Gene put a hand on Alex's shoulder, shaking his head to stop her saying more; he took Mirza's hand. 'Come on, trouble, let's get you back to bed before the nurse sees you.' He turned back to Firoz, and smiled, miming the words 'Tomorrow. Promise.'

They said goodbye to Mirza and left, stopping to speak to the nurse on the way out. 'Does his father come at particular times?'

'Mostly in the afternoon. I think he works shifts. We don't usually see him in the mornings.'

'Tell Firoz we'll see him tomorrow morning, then.' Gene looked back at the corner bed, at the crying child and his angry father, and squeezed Alex's hand tight.

xxxxxxxxxx

Cecil Court took their minds off the Bengali boys, or let them pretend as much; Gene was after first editions of Western novels, and Alex was happy to browse. Escaping with only trifling damage to their pockets, they wandered over to Leicester Square to see if there was anything worth watching at any of its five cinemas. Ambling up Irvine Street arm in arm, Alex suddenly halted, pulling Gene back a step.

'What now, woman?'

'Templar Records… I used to come here with my dad. I'd forgotten. Do you mind?' She looked at him wistfully.

'They got any country?'

'Doubt it. All classical and choral, I think.'

'I'll see you in the pub, then.'

'Ten minutes.'

Gene made a sceptical noise and planted a kiss on her head before diving into The Bear two doors down. It was nearly forty minutes before Alex collected him, weighed down by a carrier bag full of nostalgia. 'Want to go and see a film, then?'

He looked up her, beautiful, smiling down at him. _My girl_. 'Know what, Bolls? I'd rather go home and watch your arse wiggling as you do the ironing.'

'What do I do for entertainment?'

'Told you. Ironing.'

'I could go off you.'

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Beer in hand, Gene sat back and watched Alex put one of her new records on the turntable. She turned to him before starting the music. 'This is my favourite song ever. I first heard it when I was seven, and I know every word of it. I'll tell you the words afterwards. All you need to know now is that it's a love song. And it's about you.' She dropped the needle on to the track, and in the two seconds of silence, she sat down with her glass of wine, and snuggled into his arms.

Over the hiss of the old recording, a slow, rocking piano harmony, then a sweet, high soprano voice. '_Du bist die Ruh, der Friede mild_…'

Transported to the innocence of childhood, Alex was back home on Sunday evenings, her father listening to Schubert and reading the Observer, her mother making soup for supper. Happy times. Before their lives went haywire. Before…

Gene's body was rigid, his arm clamped around her; Alex turned to see what was wrong. His head was tipped back against the cushions, face ashen, eyes staring through the ceiling, spilling tears. Tears? _Gene?_ Alex squirmed out of his grasp to kneel on the sofa beside him, a hand beneath his jaw. She was shocked by the bleakness in his eyes, seeing only dark memories. 'Gene, my love…'

He sat up, swiping at his eyes. 'Take it off, Alex. I'm sorry, it's…'

She jumped up and lifted the needle away, the turntable clicking off, leaving them in silence. She waited. He was hunched over, head bowed; after a while he scrubbed at his eyes again and sat up, snuffing up a lungful of air, exhaling in a long breath. He looked over at Alex, saw the worry etched on her face.

'It was my mother's favourite. When I was a little kid. She played it to put me to sleep, and when the war started and my dad was called up, she'd cry when she played it. Quiet, just tears streaming down her face. Didn't want to upset me, I suppose.'

Alex got up, poured two fingers of Scotch and handed it to him. He drank a mouthful, then held out a hand to her, drawing her back down to sit on his lap; she put her arms round him, and her head on his shoulder, all without a word.

'I have no idea what happened to my dad in the war; he never spoke about it. He came back from the Desert in 1944, and he was a complete stranger. He looked like my dad – thinner, hair bleached almost white, skin brown, but recognisable. A stranger inside. Angry all the time, often in a foul mood, never said much. Snapped at the littlest thing. Wouldn't tolerate me and Stu. Even in those days, when you were supposed to be good and play nicely… little boys in a small house mean noise. Mess.'

Alex stroked a hand through his hair, but said nothing.

'He used to hit us. He'd lose his rag and lash out, or throw something. At night we'd hear him shouting at our mum. He started to hit her, too. I'd try and stop him, and get a battering for my pains. We learned to leave him alone, but we lived in a two-bed terrace. Nowhere to escape except our bedroom or the street. When he came back from the pub, rat-arsed, he'd look for us, set on giving us a lashing for something he imagined we'd done.'

He sighed, leaning his head against hers for a moment. 'He hated everything that wasn't British or American. My mother was forbidden to play her records because he said they were foreign muck. He broke a lot of them, especially anything that sounded German. Mozart. Viennese waltzes. There was a box of records called Madam Butterfly that went out the window because it was Japanese. Mum hid that song,' He nodded towards the stereo. 'She played it sometimes when he was out. But he came home from the pub early one night. Stu and I were in bed; we heard the shouting, so I went downstairs. They were in the front room, fighting. Mum was lying on her back by the fire, her neck bent over the fender. Dad had hold of her hair, holding her down. She was screaming and trying to hit him. He was bellowing at her. Then they saw me in the doorway. He shouted at me to get out but mum screamed at me to "get it". I suppose my dad threw the record on the fire. I got the tongs and got it out of the flames, but it was all broken and warped.'

He stopped; reached for his glass and swallowed the rest of the whisky. Alex prompted him softly. 'What happened?'

'Dunno. Don't remember. Probably got a slap.'

'How old were you?'

'Seven.'

'Oh, god, Gene…'

'I survived. Not the only kid with a dad who was a bit loose with his fists. When I was thirteen Stu and I could take him, so he wasn't so quick to have a go after that.'

'I didn't know you had a brother.'

'I don't. Not any more. Drugs.'

Alex hugged him tighter. _No wonder he's angry. Wants to protect the whole world._ Suddenly she understood so much more, and felt ashamed, thinking how she'd judged him. The things she'd said to him. All the insults she'd hurled at him those first months. She'd given every small time crook and loser the benefit of the doubt, but not Gene. Prejudiced, dismissive, sneering… a bitch.

She pressed her face into his neck, whispering. 'I'm so sorry.'

'What for? Wasn't your fault.'

'I've hurt you so much. Ever since…'

Gene shifted to tip her back against the cushions; he took her face in his hands, pinning her with the searchlight eyes. 'Alex – if we go down that road we'll be apologising to each other for ever.'

'But…'

'If you insist.' He nudged her forehead with his own.

'What?'

'You told me to butt. I butted. Now shut up whining and kiss me, you dippy tart.'

They were sweet, tender kisses at first, until the touch of Gene's hand on her breast set her alight; she ran her tongue around his ear, and whispered. 'There are time when only an armed bastard will do.'

'Weapon loaded and ready.'

'Cocked?'

'See for yourself, Inspector.'

She inspected. '_Mmmm_. Cocked.'

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

'This is what the song's about.'

'Hmmm?'

They lay naked in bed, drifting, still joined.

'_Du bist die Ruh... You are stillness, and gentle peace. You are desire, and what satisfies it. _Everything I want, Gene.'

He purred, the big-cat rumble vibrating against Alex's body.

'It's how I feel now, full of emotion, and completely happy. It's your shining eyes, and your open heart…' She kissed him. '…and your sexy arse,' she whispered.

He moved then to lie on one elbow, looking down at her. 'I thought it was a lullaby.'

'It is sort of drifting-off-to-sleep music, but it's not for children. It might sound innocent, but when you know it's the moments after fabulous sex with your beloved, it sounds different. The last verse is an orgasm. Two, actually.'

'Thought they were all repressed and innocent in those days.'

'About as innocent as a bishop in a brothel.'

Gene sighed. 'Go on then.'

'Go on what?'

'Play it again.'

Alex twitched her lips and growled. 'Of all the stations in all the cities in all the world, you had to carry me into yours.'

'That was _rubbish_.'

'Everyone's a critic.' She got out of bed and held out her hand to him. 'Come on.'

He took her hand, was towed into the sitting room and pushed on to the sofa. 'Lie back, shut your eyes and think of 1966.'

She went to the stereo and lowered the needle on the right track. Scooting back to the sofa, she knelt beside it, taking a second to admire the eagerness of the body in front of her before bending to her task, her rhythm matched by the music as it rocked and ebbed and swelled.

Gene abandoned himself to the persuasive arguments of her mouth and her hands, groaning in exquisite pleasure as she drove him to the limits of control, the passionate rise of the music no more than waves of colour as he exploded, falling into the warm silent dark.

Quietly, the song began again, and he felt an arm push under his head, cradling him, while soft fingers stroked his face, his neck and chest, with butterfly kisses from soft lips.

He woke, warm and secure, floating. He became aware of another body next to his, and opened his eyes slowly.

Alex was watching him, smiling. 'My love.' Her voice was low, soft…

He woke again, to find her head on his chest, her arms holding him under the blanket. As soon as he moved, she lifted her head to look at him.

'Hello, you,' she murmured.

'You're…' His voice was rusty, as though he'd not spoken for twenty years. 'You're a witch. What have you done to me?'

'Loved you a little. Took the world away for a while.'

He started to stretch, and seemed to grow about three feet as his legs and arms pushed away from his body, his spine cracked, and he growled as every muscle and sinew quivered, before collapsing back with a contented grunt, utterly relaxed. He opened one eye, and broke into a lazy grin that made Alex laugh.

'Feel nice?'

'Feel fanbloodytastic.' He got to his feet and stretched again. 'Feel like a spring lamb.'

'_Gene_…' Alex wheedled, picking at the peeling elastoplast on his arm. 'Can I see it?'

'It's a wound, woman. Still bleeding.' He pulled away the dressing, wincing as the last sticky bit took fine hairs with it. 'Ow. the things I do for you.'

'_Bury my heart at Wounded Shoulder_…' She kissed the tender flesh, black ink stabbed into the abused skin, raw from the needle.

He looked at her, amused. 'It's _Wounded Knee_, you fruitcake.'

'Oh, well. What's a limb between friends?' She kissed his arm again, looking up at him through her lashes.

'You're nuts. So – like it?'

Alex ran her fingers over the black lines. 'Sexy. Cool. Hey – you've got a black queen as well as the knight.'

'Exactly. My girl…' He wrapped his arms round her and squeezed tight. 'Mmmm. Naked, warm, smiling at me. If I wasn't hungry enough to eat the national herd of Argentina, I'd have to drag you back to bed this instant, Mrs Magic. As it is… reveal the contents of your fridge, woman.'

xxxxxxxxxxxx

TBC

**Notes**

_Peperami first hit the UK in 1982, otherwise Carteret would only have had a chipolata._

_Du Bist die Ruh - by Franz Schubert, sung by Elizabeth Schumann in a 1932 recording. I had thought of this scene months ago, when EastAnglia was thinking of writing an epilogue to her story The Velvet Dark. I suggested this song to her, so the Baron and Felicity got to hear it before G&A..._


	28. Three wishes

_As ever, my grateful thanks to betaWombledon, without whom... And to all those of you who review, especially those of you who review each chapter - it makes such a difference, and has real value in terms of developing style and content. But I love everyone who reads, whether or not you review. Thank you all. _

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Gene perched his arse on the stepladder and took a breather. Alex, growling as she scraped at a stubborn bit of nineteenth century gloss, looked about seventeen in leggings and an old green shirt of his that she'd stolen, her hair stuffed under a cotton sunhat, her only make-up a liberal smattering of plaster dust and flakes of old paint. _Have you got any idea how much I love you?_ He scratched his chin, the day-old beard itching.

They were getting ready to paint his sitting room, after a couple of hours bickering in the DIY place over paint colours. After a night broken by nightmares, Alex needed a distraction. They'd have to talk about the bomb, Jaspan, Haggerty – but not today. He wanted her to have a weekend of being loved, looked after, before they had to go back to CID. Catch the wanker Carteret and his poisonous little wife.

So today he'd take her home and distract her with paint.

He couldn't see what was wrong with magnolia emulsion and brilliant white gloss, but she wasn't having it, arguing as they marched up and down the aisles, grabbing filler and sandpaper and white spirit.

'You've got a beige carpet and bile green curtains; you want a pinky-cream paint on the walls? I'd throw up. Anyway, the curtains will have to go.'

'Why?' His jutting chin should have been a warning, but if she noticed, she ignored it.

'_Why_? Because they're vile.'

'Oh – bile _and_ vile?'

'Yes. Bile green draylon is _so_ last… century.'

They kept it up until they reached the checkout with a trolley full of stuff, and once Gene had paid, they picked up where they left off while they stashed the bags, boxes and cans in the car. Alex flounced into the passenger seat full of designer indignation, and Gene slammed the driver's door shut with masculine resentment at the tyranny of women.

'Won't be told, will you? Bloody men.'

'You drive me demented. Bloody women.'

They looked at each other, eyes narrowed.

'Stubborn, stiff-necked, idiot man…' Alex put a hand behind his neck and pulled him to her, but Gene held her off, looking down his nose at her, eyes glittering.

'It's not my neck that's stiff, Bolly. You have no idea how close you came to showing the punters in there how to give a flue a good rodding. And if we don't get home in the next ten minutes I might just have to pull over and get you to service my driveshaft.'

'Come here. Let me tell you what I have planned for you…' Alex pulled him close so she could whisper in his ear.

'Jesus up a tree... My granny warned me about girls like you.' He slid his hand between her legs, and his tongue into her mouth, making her moan for him, but after twenty seconds he jerked away from her, slamming back into his seat. 'I may be about to paint my house pink, but I am _not_ coming in my pants under a sign saying DIY.'

They made it home in three minutes. The front door was kicked shut by Alex's foot as she pulled Gene to her. '_Now_, Gene… can't wait… fuck me…'

Pulling apart only enough clothes to get access, cursing and grunting, they snatched frenzied kisses, biting and licking at exposed flesh. Her arms round his neck, she let out a gutteral scream as he slid into her, lifting her so she could get her legs round his waist, his weight shoving her back against the door, thrusting hard, grunting as she clenched round him, tight and wet, till they climaxed, fast and loud, bucking against the door, rattling the knocker and startling a blackbird perched on the railings.

Dr Alice Penfold, opening her front door to an elderly patient, had to stifle her laughter as Mrs Gorman, eighty one and miserable as sin, pursed her lips. 'Noisy buggers. Bloody teenagers. No self control. Parents should be ashamed.'

Gene got through three hours of scraping walls and sanding wood before he was forced to remove Alex from the stepladder, remove the clothes from Alex, and show her again how much he appreciated all her hard work.

'We'll never get the room painted at this rate.' She ran a finger down his chest and circled his belly button until he captured her hand in his.

'Complaining?'

'About the unscheduled stop? No, my love.' She kissed his hand, and he smiled up at her as he lay full length, his head on her lap, below the beautiful tits. _A view to die for._

'In fact, I'm in the mood to grant you three wishes.'

'That's my job. The Gene Genie does that sort of thing.'

'About time it was your turn, then.'

'Any limits?'

'Anything. Anything legal.'

'Chicken.'

'Chicken? Okay, you can have chicken. Second wish?'

'Oi! Bolls… That wasn't a wish, and you know it.'

'Second wish?'

'God, you're hard.'

'Wish I could say the same of you.'

'Bloody hell, give me a breather…'

'Okay. Third wish?'

Before she could blink, Gene had her on her back, hands pinned above her head under one of his as he knelt over her. His other hand was poised over her ribs, and she was squealing.

'Gene, no… don't… don't!'

His hand crept closer to her side, and she was wriggling in a very appealing manner, her tits bouncing temptingly. 'I want my three wishes. You tricked me out of two. Are you going to restore them?'

'I… no…. _no!_'

She squealed, but he tickled her, already expert in ways to make her yield.

Laughing, begging him to stop, squealing and shrieking, she finally surrendered. 'Yes, _yes!_ All right, you can have them back! _Gene_… _stop!_' But when he did stop, she writhed her hips against him, pouting and batting her lashes. 'Well, don't _stop_.'

So he didn't. And when he did, eventually, Alex lay sprawled beneath his gaze, drugged with pleasure, her ribs lifting and falling as she came back to earth. She lifted a hand to his face, smiling into the mesmerising eyes. 'I love you. So much. Gene…'

'Shove up, then.' He lay down beside her, pushing his arm beneath her head and curling the other across her waist. He kissed her shoulder, breathing in the scent of her skin. 'Love you, Alex. More than I knew it was possible to love someone.'

'Three wishes, my love.'

He needed no time to think. 'Will you move in with me? I know it's not much, but once you've finished decorating…'

Alex touched her lips to his. 'Yes. Yes, please. Don't care where, as long as I'm with you.' She kissed him to seal the promise.

He kissed her back, to seal the seal. 'How soon?'

'Tomorrow, if you like.'

'How about tonight? We can collect your stuff later. Or tomorrow.'

'Whenever. That's it, then. You have a housemate.'

'Welcome to Chisenhale Road. There's a set of house rules stuck on the fridge. Well, there isn't, but I'll make some up. Housemate. Hmmm.'

'Which is my room?'

'There are five to choose from. Take your pick. You can have the attic, if you like.'

'I'll need a big, squashy bed.'

'There's three of them.'

'I'll need a big squashy man in the bed.'

'That'll be my room, then.'

'If you're sure.'

Gene chuckled, and hugged her.

'I love that noise. I can feel it all the way down to my toes.' She kissed his throat. 'Second wish, my love.'

He looked suddenly nervous. She wondered what was coming.

'Could we get a cat?'

Surprised, she looked at him to see if he was joking. But he was utterly serious, unable to look at her, like a child asking for the moon, waiting for the answer no.

'What kind of cat?'

'Cat. Moggy. Orange stripey thing. Black and white. No. Forget it. You're allergic. Hate 'em. It's okay. Daft idea…'

'Gene. Gene… I love cats. I'd love a cat. Ex-husband's allergic, Ev… my godfather's allergic, so I never had one. Did you have one as a kid?'

He shook his head, and Alex had a sudden vision of the sad little house, the conciliatory silence broken by fury. No place for an animal. 'We'll have to put in a catflap. Shall we go to a rescue place tomorrow?'

Gene grinned, a big kid with stubble and a beer gut. 'There's one about three hundred yards away. In the morning?'

'Yes. Third wish, my love.'

He was silent, eyes shielded from her. He shifted slightly and looked at her. 'Can I save it for another day?'

'Sure.' She dabbed kisses on his face with each breath. 'As many wishes as you like. Whenever. Love granting your wishes. Love to see you smile. Want to make you happy.'

'It's like I've died and gone to heaven, Bolls. Hard to believe. All those months, thinking you hated me. Sometimes when I thought I hated you. Wanting you all the time. Then you were nearly killed by that bitch Joan Cale…' He leant his forehead against hers.

'Nothing like a freezer to bring a relationship to the boil.'

'Not funny, Bolls. Nearly killed me, finding you cold. Made me realise…'

'Gene, Gene... We're here, warm under our de luxe dustsheet, officially cohabiting and shortly to be hired by a cat. Our little bit of heaven. We've earned it.'

'I've earned it. You just scraped in here on my coat tails… Bolly, now, be careful… Bolls… _Alex_… _oi!_'

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Alex brought in their tea, with a new packet of Garibaldis in her teeth. Gene was sprawled on the sofa, snoring quietly, with the black kitten curled up on his chest. She stood for a while, soaking up the image, dizzy with love for him. She put mugs and biscuits on the table and knelt beside the sofa, watching him sleep, the long eyelashes on his cheeks above the line of a Sunday beard; the blond hair tousled. A pulse in the powerful throat visible in the v-neck of the black jersey, soft lips asking to be kissed…

It had been a busy morning, what was left of it once they'd got out of bed: driving over to Scarborough Street to fetch her stuff, then stopping at a pet shop in the Mile End Road to buy things for the other new lodger. With everything dumped in the hall, they took the brand new cat box and walked hand in hand round to the rescue place. There was the painful process of resisting all but one cat in the building, but they left with a four month old kitten, gleaming black coat with one white foot and a white spot on his belly. He'd stood up at the front of his cage, reaching a paw through the mesh to snag their attention, yowling with a decidedly Burmese accent. His long elegant face had a distinctly oriental cast, the green eyes blazing as he yelled at them, revealing white needle teeth in a pink mouth. 'He's such an affectionate little thing,' said the cat rescue woman. 'Purrs like a Ferrari.'

'A posh mouthy tart, eh?' Gene looked at Alex, his lips twitching. 'What d'you reckon, Bolls?'

For her, it was the eyes, exactly the same colour as Gene's; with two pairs of sea-bright orbs trained on her, she had nowhere to go. 'I think he's adorable. Beautiful.' She smiled at the cat woman, then turned back to Gene, muttering, 'The cat's okay, too.'

Cat Woman, whose name was Natalie, warned them. 'He must be mostly Burmese, although the white bits suggest a touch of German sauce.' She explained, since the couple were looking blank. 'Heinz 57 Varieties.'

Gene's lips twitched. 'Bolly doesn't have Heinz where she comes from, love. Round her house it's Hellmans.'

That got him an elbow in the ribs. 'Oi, you.'

Natalie laughed. 'Less than pure bred, this little one. Aristocratic nose, peasant manners. We've been calling him Tigger, because he bounces. He was brought in because he's athletic, has too much energy, and has no respect for furniture. I think they wanted something cute that slept all day, and didn't reckon on muscles and claws. If you have things you treasure, I'd lock them away for the next couple of years.'

Gene murmured to Alex, 'You're the only thing I treasure, and I'm not locking you away.'

But despite the warnings, the black kitten was installed in Chisenhale Road, and took about thirty seconds to adjust before taking complete control. The boys downed some lunch, then retired to the sofa together for a Sunday afternoon snooze, leaving Alex to her own devices. _Redundant already. I'm outclassed_. She made a start on unpacking, but thought it wise to consult Gene before moving anything of his.

Alex touched her lips to the corner of his mouth lightly, not really wanting to wake him; but his bare feet twitched at the contact, and the movement woke the kitten, who yawned noisily and stretched. Gene's eyes opened, and he smiled sleepily into Alex's eyes.

She'd never seen anything so beautiful, and fell another few fathoms in love with him, but the blissful moment was shattered by Gene's yell of pain; the kitten had stretched, and rolled, and fallen off his perch; instinctively anchoring himself, he stuck eight needles into Gene's flesh and dragged himself to safety, causing his host to jackknife, arms flailing, one elbow catching Alex under the chin and his pained roar frightening the kitten into flight. It was all over in two seconds, but the Sunday snooze was history. Alex, head ringing from the glancing uppercut, was crying with laughter; the cat was half way up the bile green curtains, and Gene was exercising his impressive repertoire of curses.

Order was restored; the cat lured down from its perch and back into Gene's arms, purring as promised by Cat Woman, while his buddy watched the Grand Prix, and Alex was left to suit herself. _I'm jealous of a few ounces of fur._ She sat with her arms folded, nose severely out of joint, and bored witless by motorsport.

Gene looked over at her. 'Happy, Bolls?'

'Ecstatic.'

'What's got your goat, then?'

'Nothing.'

'Don't go all girly on me. What's the matter?'

'I seem to be redundant.'

'You're jealous of the cat?'

'Yes.'

'The cat doesn't wait to be asked. The cat demands what it wants, when it wants it.'

'Bully for the cat.'

Gene chuckled. 'You are the most… contrary, baffling, changeable, adorable woman.' He held a hand out to her. 'Come here, Bolls.'

'No, no. You look perfectly comfortable there with your cat and your TV and your tea and biscuits…'

'I am a happy man, Bolly. The only thing that would make me happier would be to see a smile on your face...'

She put one on. 'There. See? I'm fine.'

'… and to have you lying on my lap, purring. Come on, Bolls. Come here.' He waggled his fingers, beckoning her over. She went, taking his hand and sitting beside him, leaning against his shoulder and getting a kiss as a reward.

He picked up the kitten and handed him to Alex; she held him in the crook of her arm, upside down, like a baby, and tickled his white spot. The little cat purred louder, his eyes squeezed shut, and Alex looked at Gene, delighted.

'What are we going to call him?'

'Demon.'

'Oh… not fair. He's not wicked, are you, little thing?' The kitten squirmed in her arms, getting comfortable, purring hard.

'Dino?'

'Short for dinosaur?

'No, you twit. Dino Ferrari.'

'Fred Flinstone had a pet called Dino. Maybe I should start calling you Fred…'

'That'd make you Wilma.'

'Maybe not, then.' Alex stroked the black silky belly, rubbed under his chin, kissed the top of his head and listened to the purring.

'Now you're making me jealous. Give me that cat.'

Alex made protesting noises, but Gene scooped Dino from her arm and plonked him on the sofa arm, where he stood looking a bit dazed for a moment, then sat to watch the humans.

Gene stacked a couple of cushions beside his knee, and patted them. 'Here. Lie across my legs and put your head here. Face down, you nana. Although, come to think of it… No, face down. Come on.'

Complying seemed easier than arguing. She lay as directed, head laid on her hands, ankles resting on the arm of the sofa. Ludicrously comfortable. Then Gene pushed a hand under her jersey and began to stroke her back in smooth, long sweeps of his palm over her skin. She purred. He stopped for a moment to undo her bra, but resumed at once, stroking from her waist to her neck in one long move, back down over her ribs, and again, making her sigh in deep contentment.

'Nice?'

Alex tried to answer but only managed an incoherent mumble. But Gene seemed to get the gist and continued stroking until she was blissed out, floating somewhere warm where there was only Gene's touch to anchor her to the world.

Out of the darkness, a sound. Louder. Red sound. redblack redmouthopenloud _blood_mouthdarkdeadred eyes shouting _screaming _BANG struggling to get out, fighting against…

'Alex! Bolls…. hush… you're safe. I've got you, it's okay. Just a nightmare. Love. _shhhh… shhhhh_…' Gene rocked her in his arms, held her tight, soothing, calming her until she realised where she was. _Gene. Alive. Oh god Jim._ 'Jim!'

'I know, love. I know.' He kissed her hair, rocking her, holding her safe. She put her arms round his neck and wept on his shoulder, crying for Jaspan, for her parents, Nicole, Molly… She cried herself to a halt, and pushed herself upright, sniffing.

Gene peered at her face. 'That you in there, Bolls?'

'Sorry…'

'Don't, love.' He kissed her face. 'That's what I'm here for, to look after you. Nothing to be sorry for. Except ruining my favourite woolly. Giving me a fright. Scaring the cat. And making me miss the end of the race.'

She giggled damply, and wiped her face. A yowl from ankle level made them turn. 'Dino says it's supper time.' Alex bent down to talk to the cat in sickening tones designed to irritate Gene beyond speech. 'You poor starving ickle puddy tat… big ol' Gene's coming to feed his baby boy.' Dino bashed his head against Alex's hand and purred through the next yowl, which was a thoroughly charming noise.

Gene looked disgusted and slouched, muttering imprecations, into the kitchen to find a can of cat food and the tin opener. Alex peeked round the door to see him pick up Dino and cuddle him, whispering sweet nothings to him, before putting him down in front of a bowl of processed rabbit. He watched him for a few seconds, a silly smile on his face, before returning to Alex looking sour. 'Bloody cat. In the house for five minutes and we're waiting on it hand and foot.'

He slumped back on the couch and brandished the remote to find the early evening news. 'What with you and it, there's no bloody peace any more.'

She chuckled to herself. _I'll never get bored of this_. 'Grump, grump. Moan, whinge, grumble. Shall I take Dino and move back to Luigi's, then?'

'I don't care. Had you now. Novelty's worn off.' He had a hand on her thigh, rubbing in small circles.

'Or you could marry me.'

He looked at her then. She froze, aghast at what had slipped out of her mouth, and stared at him wide-eyed. To her horror, Gene had his old stone face on; he took his hand from her leg to scratch his ear and turned back to the television without a word.

Alex felt the blush spread over her entire body, her face and neck flaming with embarrassment, and a voice in her head was shrieking accusations of stupidity. _Got to say something. Normal. As if I'd never said anything._ 'Er…' Her voice was shaking. She swallowed and took a breath. 'Are you hungry? Shall I see what I can do for supper?'

Keeping his eyes on the box, Gene sounded nonchalant. 'Don't think there's much in, Bolly. Thought I'd go and get a curry. Fancy it?'

'Er, yeah, whatever you like. Let me pay for it…'

'It's okay, Bolls. I think I can stand you a takeaway.'

By the time he came back with food, the spices wafting through the house as he walked in, Alex had almost convinced herself she hadn't actually said it. Hadn't said the words _you_, _me_ and _marry_ in the same sentence. She downed a couple of beers with her dhansak, and began to feel better. Calmer. Like, who cared anyway?

Gene cleared away the detritus, which vexed Dino, who'd had his eye on a bit of neglected lamb and was about to stretch out a claw to hook it off Gene's plate. Trotting after the delectably smelly remains, the little cat disappeared into the kitchen weaving round Gene's feet, and ten seconds later came an agonised feline scream as a size ten heel trod on a very small paw. Dino shot back into the sitting room and took a flying leap on to the back of the sofa, tail lashing, spitting at Gene as he emerged, contrite and worried. He squatted down behind the sofa so he and the cat were nose to nose, and Alex watched him take all of sixty seconds to seduce the kitten, kissing the bruised paw, rubbing Dino's head and running his fingers down the little cat's spine, murmuring to him, turning him from a spitting fiend into a supercar engine.

It turned her to liquid, all her bones melting as she imagined that firepower focused on her. 'If I let you tread on my toes, will you do that thing to me you just did to him, with the two fingers and kissing it better? Please?'

There was the look, pale fire burning into her, heating her up from way down inside to the roots of her hair. He abandoned Dino, moving in on her with menace, and grabbed her, growling. 'Shoes off.'

She kicked off her moccasins; Gene pulled off his boots and socks, and they stood toe to toe, not taking their eyes off one another. Alex wondered if spontaneous combustion was a myth, and thought she might find out in the next couple of minutes. Gene put a foot over hers and pressed down lightly.

'Ow,' Alex murmured. 'Grrr. Sssst.'

'Poor baaaby pussycat hurt her ickle toes.' The tone wasn't remotely comforting. 'Shall the Manc Lion kiss it better, then.' It wasn't a question. With a low growl, he pushed her down on to the sofa and knelt in front of her; picking up the foot requiring attention, he held her gaze for a long, hot moment, then wrapped his lips around her big toe, sucking hard, then pulling away, his teeth scraping across her skin. Alex tried to growl, but it was more of a moan. Gene subjected each toe to the same treatment, stroking her instep and pushing his fingers over her ankle, up under her trouser leg, teasing, squeezing, as he sucked and licked and nipped at her toes. By the time he'd kissed all five digits, Alex was beyond speech, lying back against the cushions, eyes half shut, panting. 'God, oh god, that's so _good_…'

She felt hands at her waistband, unzipping, tugging, but was incapable of helping. Gene coped. Then he dealt with her top half, leaving her naked and helpless before him, trembling, skin rosy with desire for him, the scent of her driving him out of his mind. He groaned, desperate to push deep inside her, fuck her hard till she screamed. He forced himself to think about piles of paperwork… Scarman… the smug face of DCI Clark… Under control, he held up his right hand. 'You wanted two fingers.'

She nodded.

'Which two?'

'Long ones.' She reached out and took his hand, pulling it towards her, opening her mouth over his index and middle fingers, her tongue snaking between them as she suckled, her lips full, red, soft…

'_Jeesus_…' He pulled his hand away and pushed her legs apart. 'God, so wet…'

Alex, mindless with lust, was already close to the edge, and the first touch of his tongue sent her spiralling up, muscles tensing, the fluid darkness gathering round her as his tongue probed and flicked. He slid his fingers inside her, and she bucked, her head flung back, body rocking as she came like a breaking dam. Still he lapped her, tongue flicking and teasing as he groaned with the taste of her; he thrust his fingers deeper, felt her clench around him. She growled and snarled like a wildcat, panting and moaning, beyond the limits of sanity, till a scream ripped from her throat as she came again, bucking and shuddering till the last waves pulsed through her, leaving her limp, breathless, panting with laughter.

'God, but you're good… incredible. Never been…'

Gene knelt up between her legs, his elbows either side of her, leaning forward to kiss her breasts, then her lips. 'I love you more than I can tell you, Alex. Waited for you all my life. Marry me.'

His eyes were inches from hers, glowing, warm, alive… She put her palm to his cheek, her other hand stroking his hair, caressing. The tears welled and shimmered in her eyes, blurring his face until she blinked and the tears spilled; she flung her arms round his neck, clinging to him.

Gene carried her upstairs to his bed. Their bed. She was shivering, and he tucked the duvet round her and kissed her forehead. 'Don't go anywhere. I'll be back before you can think of an answer.'

He was back soon enough, with Dino on his shoulder, two glasses in one hand and a champagne bottle in the other. He put the bottle and glasses on the bedside table and handed the cat to Alex. While she was making a fuss of the throbbing fur, Gene ripped his clothes off and dived under the duvet. 'Christ, that's better. I thought I was going to split the zip, I was so hard.' He leant across her, planting a kiss on her nose en route, and grabbed the bottle. 'Bolly, Bolly?'

'Do you always keep Bollinger in the fridge?'

'Nope.' He wrestled with the cork, twisting it like a professional, wasting not one bubble. The cork rolled off the table, dropped to the floor, was leapt on by Dino and chased under the bed. 'But it seemed like a sensible precaution tonight.' Gene poured fizz and handed Alex a glass.

'You got this when you went out for curry?'

'Well, actually, no. It's been in the car since Thursday. Between Danny Plum and the hospital, I did a little shopping. Wanted to celebrate our first night together.' He tipped his glass to hers with a gentle clink. 'Here's to you, my favourite fruitcake.' They drank.

'And here's to you, my favourite knight.'

They drank again, and exchanged kisses.

So…' Gene put his glass down. 'What's the answer?'

'Of course, yes, my dear love. I'll marry you. Yes, please.'

He reached under the pillow and retrieved a small box. A small dark red velvet box, with a domed lid. 'So when you asked me, earlier, you meant it?'

'Yes. But I didn't plan it. Just sort of came out.'

'Stole my thunder. That's why I didn't say anything. Wanted to ask you properly.'

He opened the little box, pulled out a ring, and pushed it gently on to her finger. Alex looked slightly bewildered, dazzled by the colour flashing from the three diamonds.

'Don't worry, it's only glass and gilt.'

'It's _not_. Gene, it's wonderful.'

'You deserve the Star of India, but I couldn't get it out of the Tower.'

She shook her head, touching the fiery stones. 'I couldn't imagine anything as perfect as this.'

'Like it, then?'

'Love it. It's beautiful.' She looked at him. 'Like you. Thank you. I'm speechless.'

'There's a result, for starters. How's your diary looking on the tenth of April?'

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

_TBC_


	29. Old enemies

_Getting repetitive, but can't be said enough - thanks to Wombledon beta superba_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dorney had protected them well for their three days off duty. How well became clear on Monday morning when Alex and Gene faced reality on their return to CID. Harry Haggerty's death and Jaspan's disappearance in the House of Commons bomb blast had made international news, and though Cruickshank had taken the brunt of media interest along with the various government and parliamentary spokesmen, Alex had a price on her head: the beautiful DI who dated the dead man was on the tabloid editors' wanted list. There was a small clutch of photographers and reporters on the steps of Fenchurch East when they arrived for work, but a brick built plod shepherded them inside and barred the door to the media hopefuls.

Carol Watkins was on the duty desk. 'Chief Super wants to see you at once, Gene.'

He nodded, and headed for the stairs, with a glance at Alex. She watched him out of sight, then turned back to her friend. 'Sorry, Carol – what did you say?'

Sergeant Watkins chuckled. 'Lost cause... I was just asking how you were.'

'Oh. Ah. Er, fine, thanks.'

'You two sorted yourselves out, I take it.'

Alex blushed. 'Mmmm. Think so.'

'About bloody time.' The canny copper was grinning, one eyebrow cocked.

'Yes, well, anyway. While I'm here, Carol, can you and Womble both keep Easter Saturday free? We're planning a bit of a… party, sort of thing. Quiet – just a few close friends. You know.'

'I'm off at Easter; not sure about Roger – it'll depend on what's happening, won't it?'

'Suppose so. At the beck and call of terrorists.' Alex shook her head. '_Bastards_.'

'No lasting damage from Thursday?'

'Not physical.' Alex shrugged. 'Bad dreams. Waking up and realising it wasn't just a nightmare. Going back into CID and knowing Jim's not going to be there…'

'Roger's devastated. He'd really to got to like Jim these last few weeks.'

'Yeah. He was stopping Haggerty from coming after me, Carol. I abandoned him.'

The sergeant reached over the counter and gripped Alex's shoulder. 'It's not your fault. You weren't…'

Two plods burst through the doors with a struggling youth in their grip.

'Talk later, Alex?'

She nodded, and left Carol to deal with the arrest; she took a deep breath as she rounded the corner, then pushed through the double doors to CID. They were all in, heads down, working – all except Jim Jaspan. His desk was clear, his chair squared up neatly, ready for him. Alex stood at the door, fighting tears.

Shaz got to her feet. 'Good to see you back, Ma'am. You all right?'

Then the sound of clapping. Ray Carling, standing up, applauding. Chris, Womble, Duffy – all of them on their feet, for her.

Bereft of words, she smiled at them and walked to her desk; Ray came over for a quiet word. 'It was very brave, what you did, Boss. At the House. We're all sorry about DI Jaspan. He was a good bloke.'

Alex was touched. Ray Carling wasn't her greatest fan – this was quite something, coming from him. 'Thanks, Ray. And thanks for getting stuff for the Guv. And the food. Thoughtful of you.' She thought Cruickshank had probably instigated both, but it wouldn't hurt to give Ray a little extra credit, for once.

Up in Dorney's office, there were press cuttings all over his desk.

'The papers on Friday morning – and again on Sunday – carried photos of you both after your escape from the House, and some carried a shot of DI Drake with DS Haggerty at a party somewhere.'

'Burns Night, sir.'

'How do you know, Hunt?

'I remember it, sir.' Gene gave his Chief Super a dry look.

'Yes, I see. Presumably some enterprising guest sold the photograph for a tidy sum. However, there's no mention of Haggerty's true involvement in the incident, or his connection with the Carterets. Or you, for that matter. The less generally known at the moment, the better. We can't rely on D Notices, so tell your team to keep their counsel, DCI Hunt.'

'Will do, sir.' Gene hovered.

'Was there something else, Hunt?'

'Just thought you should know, sir. In confidence. Alex Drake and I are getting married.'

Dorney looked flabberghasted. 'Good god… How on earth…?'

'Took your advice, sir.'

'Oh, you can't pin this one on me, Gene.' He laughed, and shook his DCI's hand. 'You would choose your own DI, though, wouldn't you? When this planned?'

'Easter Saturday. But keep it to yourself.'

'What? _This_ Easter? Less than two weeks? For heaven's sake. It takes six months to plan a wedding. I speak as a man with three daughters. Women will…'

'Alex isn't women, sir. I'm relieved to tell you she wants to keep it simple. Turn up, do the deed, have a few drinks somewhere, and bugger off for a couple of days R&R.'

'Nice idea, Gene, but if you get away with it I'll eat Gyatso's dinner.'

'Come and see for yourself, sir. We'd both like you there, if you can make it.'

'Thank you. I wouldn't miss it, Gene.'

'Bring the dog's dinner with you.'

Gene could hear Dorney laughing as he strode back down the corridor towards CID. He got his own ovation as he walked in to his kingdom, but he waved it away. 'Thanks, but we've still got to catch the bastards.'

'At least Haggerty's dead, Guv.' Ray sounded almost gleeful.

'Yes, Ray, but at the cost of a good officer.'

'One less bastard to worry about, though, Guv.'

Half way through the morning, Gene found Alex in the kitchen. As he filled the kettle, he muttered to her, 'Anyone said anything?'

'About us, you mean?'

He nodded.

'No. Well, Carol, but no-one in CID.'

'Told you. Thick as caulifower ears, the lot of them.'

'They know, though. They're watching us.'

'Watching us do what?'

'Watch each other.'

'So they're watching us watch each other. So what?'

Alex rolled her eyes. 'Ray knows you were in my flat on Thursday night. We were both off for three days. They're not that dim.'

Gene grunted. 'You're not wearing your ring.'

'I am, look.' She pulled a long gold chain out of her collar; the diamond ring was hanging from it, flashing even under the dull fluorescent light. 'I wouldn't be parted from it, my love.' Smiling, she jiggled it at Gene, just as Chris wandered into the kitchen with his empty tea mug. Alex stuffed the ring back under her blouse, but not in time to stop Chris's eye being caught by the fiery gleam.

'All right, Boss? Guv?'

'Get in the queue, Christopher. I've got first dibs on the kettle, so go away.'

'Er, right, Guv.' He scuttled back out, still clutching his mug.

'Why are you so hard on him, Gene? He does try.'

'He's very trying. But he never gets anywhere. At least he won't have noticed anything.'

'He does notice things. He doesn't always realise their significance, but he's observant.'

'What you mean is, he sees two, and he sees another two, but he doesn't know that he could add them up to get four. Useless twat.'

'Sometimes that's better than you adding them up to seven and a half.'

'Just what are you implying, Delectable Inspector?'

'Nothing.' She gave him a wide-eyed look, trying not to smile.

Gene looked down his nose at her. 'I'll remind you of this conversation later, Bolly-No-Knickers. You can make it up to me then.'

'Promises, promises.'

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Two hours later Alex, Gene and Womble were with the rest of Cruickshank's team at the Yard, listening to forensic reports from Thursday.

'It doesn't make for happy reading.' Cruickshank was perched on a table facing his disciples, each of whom had a file in front of them; there'd been no wisecracks this morning; the loss of Jaspan was still very raw. Haggerty's death was difficult for the team to deal with. They'd all known him as a fellow officer, but they'd all felt the betrayal of a trusted man gone bad. Cruickshank had nothing to make them feel any better.

'We have no evidence to pin any of this on anyone but the three dead men. Haggerty, we know about. The two in the inflatable were Zionists living close to Avram Halevy, the boy involved at the Mint. There was no sign of Carteret at the scene, and no forensic evidence to link to him. Sir Richard Grenville was conveniently in Devon from Tuesday till Friday afternoon. A couple of MPs remember seeing a waitress moving the fire extinguisher, but could give no helpful description; like the priests, waitresses are almost invisible.'

'Could the waitress have been Miranda Carteret, sir?'

'Yes, DI Drake. It could also have been Carol Thatcher, Selina Scott or Bet Lynch.'

'What about the inflatable, sir?'

'An Avon workboat belonging to the River Police. It wasn't reported stolen, but there is no trace of it in the paperwork after 1978.'

Womble put his hand in the air and got the nod from Cruickshank. 'Was the fire extinguisher live, sir?'

'No. It contained over two pounds of material in TNT packaging, and a detonator wired to a Diehl Junghans timer. It turned out to be orange plasticine – harmless in itself, but the TNT wrapping and the electronics were presumably to tell us that they could as easily have created the real thing.'

Gene, who'd been sitting with his arms folded, listening intently, sat forward and raised a hand. 'So not only are these neoNazi bastards laughing themselves sick at using Jewish stooges as well as winding the nation up over non-existent Asian terrorists, but they still have an arsenal at their disposal, a seemingly limitless army of fanatics to do their dirty work, no end of soft targets to hit, and no identifiable timescale?'

'In a nutshell, DCI Hunt.'

'Oh, bloody marvellous. The whole of the Metropolitan Police Force, Special Branch and god knows who else further down the spooky spectrum, all buzzing about like blue arsed flies, and we still can't wrap this up, despite knowing the names, addresses, shoe size and Christmas card list of those behind it.'

'Thinking about timescale, sir,' said a voice at the back of room. 'It's the first of April on Thursday; these villains seem to like a sick joke.'

'Yes, Verwey, you could well be right.' Cruickshank turned to Alex, who had her hand raised.

'And it's Easter the following week. Given the religious overtones of the bombing campaign, could that be a danger point?'

'Yes again, Alex. Although with no defined target, it doesn't help us much. One thing you won't know; a gift from our shadowy friends at MI5. They tell us that there have been negotiations on the right wing fringe, between the British Movement, the New National Front and the British Democratic Party. There is a lot of money, old and new, behind these factions, with influential contacts throughout the establishment and the armed forces. Grenville and his coterie are playing a long game, and they've taken years to prepare. They are playing for very high stakes. But there is another element here that we have – thanks, ironically, to Harry Haggerty's undercover work with ecofascists. The anticapitalism theme has some credibility, so we may also be facing an attack on the banking system.'

Cruickshank got to his feet. 'I think that's the key information. There's more detail in your folders; you have your lines of enquiry, but do please circulate leads and information, as the more connections we make between these disparate strands, the faster we'll catch Carteret, and the faster we'll be able to disinfect this rot. Thank you, everyone.'

'Sir?' Alex interrupted. 'What news of the wounded officer?'

'Sergeant Josh Binder. He's still alive, but on a ventilator and sedated. His lungs suffered some damage from the blast wave, but he survived the neck injury, so he stands a good chance of recovery.'

'Could he have seen anything?'

'He was on the terrace outside Annie's Bar, so he may have seen anyone entering or leaving the building before the mortar hit, yes, Alex. But it will be a while before we can talk to him.'

As they were about to leave the room, Gene and Womble were sidelined by DCI Clark and taken off for a word, leaving Alex with Cruickshank.

He handed her a battered leather wallet. 'It's Jim's. Forensics have done with it, and I thought you'd like it.'

'Thanks, sir. We can't exactly return it to his family, can we?'

She opened it, and pulled out the photograph of the Jaspan family. Wife, two boys and Jaspan himself, all laughing at the camera. She frowned. 'Sir? There's something… odd about this.'

She showed him the photo. 'I could swear he wasn't in the picture when he showed it to me.'

Cruickshank looked at the photo, then at Alex. 'Are you sure?'

'Yes.' She looked far from certain. 'I think so. But the more I think about it, the more I'm…'

'His family is in 2007, isn't it?'

'That's what he said.'

Cruickshank took the photo from Alex's hand. 'So how come he had this photo here with him?'

She looked at him, suddenly realising. 'He can't have. How did he bring it with him?'

They looked at each other, huge questions in their eyes.

'Ready, Bolls?' Gene was at the door, car keys in hand.

'As I'll ever be, Guv.'

xxxxxxxxxxxx

They were driving over Tower Bridge when Ray's voice crackled over the radio. 'Guv?'

Alex picked up the receiver and held it for Gene. 'What's the panic, Gunga Din?'

'Arthur Layton's been seen.'

'_Layton_? Where?'

'Here. Outside Luigi's. It were Duffy spotted him out the window. By the time we'd got out into the street, he'd gone. Vanished.'

Gene slammed his foot to the floor; they were outside the station in less than a minute. 'Womble, get Alex into CID and keep her there.'

Protesting violently, Alex was manhandled inside Fenchurch East, past Ray as he handed the radio back to Carol and ran to meet Gene outside the door to Alex's flat.

Gene looked over at the station, to make sure Alex hadn't escaped. There'd be a reckoning later, he knew. 'Go and get the key from Luigi, Ray.'

'Already got it, Guv.'

'Good man. Give it here, then.' He unlocked the door and ran up the stairs two at a time, with Ray at his heels. On the second flight was a red balloon, tethered by a thin ribbon to a cassette tape, just heavy enough to hold the helium balloon down.

'Go and get some evidence bags, Ray. I'm going to check the flat.' _Layton doesn't know that Alex has moved out_. Gene searched the flat, but found nothing out of place. It felt okay – no hint of disturbance in the air. Gene locked up and went back downstairs; Ray had taken the balloon and cassette, and Gene returned the key to Luigi.

'Did anyone come looking for DI Drake today?'

The Italian shrugged. 'No, signor. It has been very quiet upstairs for days. I did not hear any sign of the signorina.'

'No, Luigi. That's because she wasn't here.'

'Ah, Signor Hunt… she was with you?'

'Bye bye, Luigi.' He strode out of the bar, leaving its owner with a smile wider than his moustache.

Viv was on duty. Gene looked at him and sighed, shaking his head. The custody sergeant knew better than to say anything.

'Ask DI Drake to come to the interview room, would you, Viv?'

Alex burst in sixty seconds later, spitting with fury. 'What the _fuck_ was that about? How _dare_ you have me bundled into the station like some bloody criminal!

'Alex, calm down.'

'I am calm.' The words came through her clenched teeth.

_About as calm as a sandstorm_. Time for him to hang on to his temper. 'You were in danger. I needed you out of the equation.'

'I was in no more danger than you or Womble. There was no immediate threat. I'm a DI, for fuck's sake. A serving police officer, not the little woman, Gene.'

They glared at each other.

He knew he'd overreacted. His first instinct was to keep her safe. _My girl_. She'd put herself in enough danger. He wanted her away from it, his love, away from the scum and the vicious murdering bastards out there. He knew, too, that he couldn't stop her. This was her job, her choice. Not a woman to be penned at home. His wife, maybe. _Please god_. But not his housewife. 'All right, Alex. Point taken. But you've seen what he left. _Inside_ your building. He _is_ threatening you, and as your DCI it's my duty to safeguard an officer – any officer – on my team against a clear and specific threat.'

'Oh, right. So if Layton had been threatening Chris, you'd have had him dragged off the street in the same way?'

'I said, point taken, Alex. Let it drop. Next time I'll let you go in ahead of me, shall I?'

'Don't you think I want to keep you safe, too?' She dropped her voice to a stage whisper. '_I love you, you fuckwit_. But Layton's _my_ collar. I'm the one who's got to take him.'

'Why, Alex? You've been obsessed with him since the start. What _is_ it about Arthur Layton?'

'Why don't you understand? _He's my route home_…'

'What _are_ you talking about?'

Alex went white as the truth hit her. _Home. Home with Molly_. She'd promised she'd never give up trying to get back to her daughter. _I promised_. _But if I have Molly, I've lost Gene._ She closed her eyes, feeling her world shudder beneath her feet.

'_Alex_…' Gene shook her. 'DI Drake! Pull yourself together. I need you functioning, Bolls. Bolly…'

Alex pulled away from him, snatched her arm away as he tried to pull her back. She couldn't speak to him. Couldn't look at him, or she'd break. She walked out of the interview room, out of the building, across the street and up to her flat. Gene watched her from the steps until her door closed, then trudged back to CID.

'Ray. Get that thing to forensics. I want to know what's on the tape, but tell them to get whatever physical evidence they can. When he goes back inside, he goes back for good.'

Ray picked up the balloon in its evidence bag and made for the door.

'Hang on, Ray. Duffy, Chris. I want you three to search every nook and bloody cranny where Layton might be holed up. He's after Drake. Whatever happens, whether Carteret blows this poxy city to kingdom come or the Martians invade, I want you three on Layton until you find the scum, and then I want you to truss him like a Michaelmas goose ready for roasting. He will not hurt Alex. He will not escape you. Do I make myself clear?'

'Yes Guv.' They spoke as one, and left the room.

Gene went to his office, feeling like an old man. _Not now. Not sure I could bear it_. Poured himself a large Scotch, and picked up the phone. 'Viv? DI Drake is under threat from our old pal Arthur Layton. I want a large plod outside her door where he can be seen, and I want another one in the building who knows what he's doing. Now, Viv.'

He took a long pull at his Scotch, then picked up the phone again. 'Get hold of Evan White for me.'

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Gene thumped on the door yet again. 'Alex, open up. For Christ's sake, open the damned door.'

It was past six. Ray and the others had been round Layton's old haunts but had turned up nothing. Evan White had had no contact with him since October, and had no ideas where he might be. Gene had no reason to disbelieve him.

Forensics had given him a list of what was on the cassette tape. Extracts from three David Bowie songs and a short message spoken by an unidentified man with a London accent. _'A pinch and a punch for the first of the month. See you soon, Alex. Going to make you happy too.'_ Gene had sent Chris over to the lab to get a copy of the tape; it was Layton's voice. There were prints all over the balloon and the tape – more than enough physical evidence to keep the prosecution happy.

But why was Layton so reckless?

Gene tapped on the door, dropping his voice; he could see shadows moving under the door, so she had to be standing in the hallway. 'Alex, I need you with your psychology head on. If we... if you can work out what Layton wants, we can help you catch him.' He put his head against the door, his voice low. 'If that's what you need to do, love, I'll help you. Don't want us to fall out, Bolls. Open up, love. Please. Alex…'

The latch clicked, and she was there, hunched as though she were ill, her face a mess of tearstains and smudged makeup.

She'd wept the afternoon away, ripped in two between her child and the love of her life, faced with a loss that she wouldn't survive whole.

She tried to work out what she could tell Gene. _I have to tell him something; tell him as much of the truth as possible. But how can I explain about Molly? About 2008? It'll have to be something he can accept. the truth is impossible: even I don't believe it. Certainly don't understand it._

She no longer knew if Gene was a construct, or had an independent existence. If he only existed in her mind, he would blink out when she woke in 2008; all that life, that great heart – snuffed out. And if he existed, he'd have to go on without her. Either way, she was going to destroy him. And that might just destroy her.

He'd been hammering on the door, demanding to be let in. She could cope with his anger, but this sadness in his voice, the love… She couldn't ignore him any longer.

As soon as the door was open, Gene was inside the cramped hallway, his arms round her, murmuring into her hair. '_Alex_... Not alone, Bolls, not any more. Come on.' He drew her into the sitting room, unlit but for the orange street light seeping through the blinds. 'You've been sitting in the dark, on your tod, crying. I've been out there, on me tod, feeling like crying.' His voice dropped to a soft growl, as he stroked the hair from her face and looked into her eyes. 'You daft, stubborn tart. What are you?'

'Daft.'

'And?'

'Better with you, Gene.'

'You're learning.' He took her face in his hands, gentle thumbs wiping away her tears, smearing her mascara some more. He kissed her lovingly. 'Want me to come and wash your face for you?'

'Oh, god…' Alex fled to the bathroom, and Gene went in search of alcohol.

Alex emerged, her hair pulled back into a ponytail, looking scrubbed, calm, and three inches shorter in her socks.

He groaned. 'God… you look like a convent girl. Makes me feel like a dirty old man.'

'That's good, cos I feel like a dirty old man. You'll do.' She waggled her eyebrows at him suggestively.

'Alex, not now. You've got some talking to do.' He backed away from her.

'We can talk lying down.' She moved towards him.

'Talk first.' He took another step back and found himself against the wall.

She took a step forward to stand an inch away from him. She didn't touch him. Didn't speak. Just looked at him, a secret little smile on her lips.

Gene could smell her scent, feel the warmth from her body. But he'd put up with that for the best part of a year. He could resist it now. He _would_ keep control of himself. Make her talk to him. Get some sense out of her at last.

The smile faded from her face as she looked deeper into his eyes. She couldn't keep this up, this little game. All she could see is everything she could lose, in a few hours, a day, a week… whenever Layton dragged her to the edge of her time and she was yanked back to her life, away from him. She put a hand on Gene's chest, felt his heart beating, hammering beneath her fingers.

He saw the smile washed out of her eyes by sadness, saw tears brimming; he felt her hand warm against his body, and knew how easily she could break his heart. He reached for her, snatched her into his arms, held her tight, 'Don't go, Alex. Not now. Don't leave me now.' They clung to each other, knowing that life was fragile, and that happiness could be shattered in a split second.

Alex pushed Gene away gently, wiping the tears from her face, not looking at him. 'I'll try to explain as best I can.'

Gene sat on the sofa and pulled Alex down to lean back against his chest, folded in his arms. 'I'm listening, my love.'

'My daughter Molly is twelve. It was her birthday was the day I arrived here. I'd promised I'd be there to watch her blow out the candles on her cake. Breaking that promise…'

Gene squeezed her gently.

'Not seeing my little girl hurts so much. But she's so far away. Beyond my reach.'

'I don't get it, Bolls. The world's a small place. You can be anywhere in a day.'

'It's more complicated. _And here comes the big fat lie._ My ex-husband, Robert, has got custody of our daughter. He's a lawyer, and he's in America with Molly, and he knows a lot of judges. I don't know what he's told her, but Molly doesn't see me; doesn't even speak to me. She thinks I've abandoned her. Thinking my mother didn't love me has haunted me all my life. I don't want my daughter to think that, Gene. I love her so much. She's my whole life. Can't face the thought of not seeing her again, holding her, smelling her hair…'

'Custody decisions can be reversed. Why don't I go out there with you and we can fight the bastard. I can help you, Bolls. You don't have to do this alone. Never alone again.'

'Gene….' She leaned her head back on his shoulder and touched her cheek to his. 'God, but I love you so much. Molly's one whole world to me, but you're the other. You're my whole life, too. I didn't think I could love two people so much. Didn't think it was possible. I'd give anything if you could both share my world but I don't know how.'

'We'll come up with a plan, Bolls. You'll see. You've got the Gene Genie on the case now.'

She kissed his hand, held it to her cheek, kissed it again.

'What's it got to do with Arthur Layton?'

Alex sighed. 'Don't shout at me. This sounds completely mad.'

'I'm used to mad from you, Bolls. If you came up with something logical, that would put the wind up me.'

'I have… dreams. Sometimes. Like being in the future. See things before they happen.'

'Clairvoyant.'

'Sort of. Can't explain it. Like I've already lived it.'

'The car bomb that killed the Prices.'

'Er, yes.'

'Trying to solve a murder that hadn't happened.'

'Yes. Exactly.'

'Hmm. Has this always happened?'

'No. Layton was what started it.'

'What about him?'

'He shot me, a long time in the future. Will shoot me. He threatens Molly, kidnaps me. Shoots me in the head.'

'Hmph.' He took a deep breath. 'Hmmmm.'

'Do you believe me?'

'You believe it, so I might as well accept it. If we turn up a better explanation, fine. Till then, I'll live with you being a weirdo. Love you, you see.'

'That makes you pretty weird, don't you think?'

'Marriage made in loony heaven, then.'

'But…' This was bizarre. Gene Hunt, DCI Rational, accepting clairvoyance as odd but not impossible. 'You believe in clairvoyance?'

'I can't dismiss it. My dad's Aunty Reggie…'

'_Aunty _Reggie_?_'

'Regina. Named for the old queen; born as the turn of the century. Reggie made a good living telling fortunes, the old witch.'

'Tea leaves and all that?'

'Mmm. No. Palms, usually, and tarot cards. But she'd see things, too. Pictures in her head. Like a silent film clip, she said.'

'Did they come true?'

'Apparently. We heard about some of them.'

'Tell me…'

'I will, love, but let's save it for a Sunday afternoon with Dino, eh?'

'Tell me one now.'

He didn't speak immediately. He shifted, held her a little tighter. 'Think she saw you.'

Alex didn't move.

'Just before she died, she started giving me and Stu funny looks, like she was puzzled by us. When we went to see her, she'd stop in mid sentence and stare at us, or one of us, then start talking again. Stuart never noticed, but it drove me nuts. I asked her, in the end. She told me to look after my brother. "He's walking towards darkness." That's what she said. "He's walking towards darkness." Didn't understand then. Do now.' A silence. 'Then she leaned forward and grabbed my arm, like she was going to tell me the secrets of the universe. "Save the red princess and marry the white queen." Said it three times before she'd let go of my arm. Bit spooky.'

'_What I tell you three times is true_.'

'What? '

'Nothing. Go on.'

'The last time I saw her, she grabbed my arm again, wittering on about the white queen. "Bind her with fire and she'll come back to you."'

'Must have made an impression if you remember it word for word.'

'Forgot about it. Load of crap, princesses and queens, to a spotty youth in the back streets. Then the other day, when you gave me the drawing of the black knight, I remembered. Been thinking about it ever since.'

Alex turned round to look at him. 'The white queen… Is that why you proposed?'

'No, you airhead. D'you think I'm soft? Base my decisions on the prognostications of a batty old woman? Wasn't going to let any other bastard get his hands on the best totty in London, that's all.'

'Uh-huh.' She raised an eyebrow, and smiled at his expression, kissing the sulky mouth. 'You're an unreconstructed old romantic, Sir Gene.'

'Bollocks.' But he kissed her back anyway. 'Let's go home, love.'

She pulled away from him, remembering why they were in the flat. 'No, Gene. Got to stay here. Wait for him to make a move.'

'His message said the first of the month. Three days yet.'

'If the message has any purpose, it'll be to throw us off the scent. He's a psychopath. He's right, everyone else is wrong. Truth means nothing to him. What he thinks _is_ the truth.'

'He wants us off guard.'

'Exactly. We should get rid of the constable outside, make it look as if we've taken his message literally.'

Gene chewed his lip, thinking for a moment, then crossed the room and picked up the phone. 'Viv? Recall the plod outside. No, we still need the inside man. And find me Ray, can you? Ta.'

The DS's voice emerged from the phone as a tinny squeak.

'Ray – I want you and Duffy to watch Luigi's building overnight. Find a first floor window with an unobstructed view of the street. No booze. No snooze. Comprende? I want all five brain cells awake and alert. Ring me every two hours. I'm in the flat. Yes, she is.' There was a longer pause. 'No, Sergeant Carling. And if I hear you mouthing off like that again I'll have you transferred to Basingstoke. Do I make myself clear?' He dropped the phone on its cradle. 'Arsehole.'

'He's jealous, Gene.'

'Of me? Of course, my love, but so's every man in the Division.'

'No, you idiot. Jealous of me.'

Gene looked deeply shocked. '_What_? Hellfire…'

'No, Gene... You're his hero, the Manc Lion. He likes to think he's your best mate, and I've put his nose out of joint. That's all.'

He let out a long breath and sat down. 'Thank Christ for that. I admit that I think him drinking Pilsner's a bit Dorothy, but…'

Alex stood behind him and slid her arms round his neck, bending to rub her cheek against his. 'I must be in love. That kind of talk used to drive me nuts. Now I think it's quite endearing.'

'I could say the same of every sentence you utter, Mrs Fruitcake.' He reached behind him and slapped her arse. 'Come on. Get some sleep. I'll do eight to twelve, and you do twelve to eight. All right with you, Bolls?'

'More Genius maths, eh? Wake me at two, Einstein.' She dropped a kiss on the blond head and felt him chuckle.

She curled up on the sofa so she could watch him; Gene turned the light out, and lit a fag, the smoke curling through the rusty street light slanting through the window. After a while he turned his head to see if she was asleep, and seeing her eyes closed, smiled to himself. If she really had to leave, he'd go with her. _I'm damned if I'll give her up, now or ever._

xxxxxxxxxxx

She woke with a start. It was still dark; the house was still, silent except for the ticking of the clock in the hall and her own shallow breathing. Listening hard, eyes wide to catch the slightest movement, a darker shape in the shadows, the faintest flicker of light beneath the door. After long minutes listening, watching, she was reassured, let herself relax. Let her eyes close. Sank back into sleep.

A whisper. '_Alex_…' A hand over her mouth, another on her shoulder, pressing her down. Stranger's hand. Stranger's voice. Stranger's smell. She thrashed beneath the cruel hands, writhing, kicking, hitting. Hit something. The voice, swearing. Her mouth suddenly free. She screamed, shrill, terrified… '_Evan!!!_'

Alex woke screaming, jerking bolt upright. Jolted from his half sleep, Gene was on his feet and at her side. '_Jeeesus_…! Alex... _What..._ Christ, Bolls…' He went to hug her, but she fought him off.

'Not me… Not this me. Child. Alex _Price_. Gene… _Alex Price…_'

Gene stopped the car a street away from the house, and they slipped quietly to the corner where they could see number twenty three Joshua Street. Alex looked up at her bedroom window; dark, still. Not quite four o'clock. She gestured to him to watch the front while she took a look round the back; he nodded. She walked casually across the road till she was by the house, then slid in and through the garden gate like a wraith.

Gene trod softly up the steps to the front door, pushing the letterbox open to peer through at the hall. Something felt wrong. _The bastard's here somewhere. I can feel him._ He looked round for any sign of Ray or Duffy, in vain.

A shrill scream from inside the house. A child's scream. All hell broke loose, and Gene crashed his shoulder against the Yale lock once, twice; the third time the lock gave way and he barrelled into the hallway, reaching for the banister to haul himself up the narrow stairs. Alex came tearing up from the basement, shrieking like a vixen, and there were shouts from upstairs and the screams of the terrified child. Gene was two thirds of the way up the stairs with Alex six steps in his wake, when a wiry figure slammed him against the wall and leapt over the banister rail, crashing to the floor and scrambling through the open door, out into the night and into the shadows. Alex was after him like a Fury. 'Layton! _Layton!_'

She stumbled to a halt, gasping for breath, looking desperately for any clue to which direction he'd run, but the silent street offered no answers. Lights were coming on here and there, neighbours disturbed by the noise, faces appearing at windows.

Alex turned back to the house, seeing Gene in the doorway, clutching his shoulder and grimacing. She shook her head and went back into the house, closing the door as best she could.

Evan was at the head of the stairs, the child clinging to him, wide-eyed. 'What the hell's going on? Was that _Layton_?'

With a rush of heavy feet, Ray and two uniforms thundered up the basement stairs, and Duffy blundered through the front door.

'Tally ho. The cavalry's arrived.' Gene turned on the latecomers, spitting acid. 'You'd be an Ealing comedy if you weren't so bloody _tragic_. Where the _f…_'

'Gene…' Alex hissed at him. 'Young ears.'

She looked up to her shellshocked godfather and the little girl she'd once been. 'Evan, why don't you take Alex down to the kitchen and make her some Ovaltine? We'll get things straightened out here and come down in a minute.'

With a locksmith and glazier on their way and SOCO looking for physical evidence of the break-in, Ray, Duffy and posse were carrying out a fruitless search of the area; Alex and Gene were in the kitchen. Gene had his arm round the child, getting her to tell him what had happened, lancing the boil of terror and letting her talk out the nightmares, praising her for being brave and scaring off the stupid man. Evan and Alex were at the table, talking quietly until the SOCO officer gave them the nod that they'd finished and were off.

It was after five, but it wouldn't be light for another hour. Still time to get the child back to sleep. Gene carried her back up the stairs; ten minutes later he hadn't come back down, and Alex went up to find him, Evan on her heels. She peered round the door; Gene was sitting on the girl's bed, her hand in his, telling her a story, his voice little more than a whisper, soothing her to sleep. Only when she was out for the count did he stroke her hair, leaning over to kiss her forehead. 'Sleep well, princess.'

In the car, Alex had her hand on Gene's leg as he drove them home, needing the contact with him. 'That child adores you.'

'Of course she does, Bolls. She's a child of remarkable intelligence and impeccable judgement.' He flicked a glance at her, straight faced, then smiled to himself as he drove on. 'When she got into bed, I put the light out and was about to leave her. But she put her hand in mine and asked me to stay with her till she went to sleep.' He sighed. 'Couldn't refuse, could I?' He took her hand in his and kissed it, only letting go to change gear. 'Never had much to do with children. Even when I was a child, the kids round our way were hard little fuckers. The sort of kids who'd make a paedophile eat his own sweets. But little Alex, and the boys at the London… almost enough to change my mind about contraception.'

'Molly would give you a run for your money…' She paused, and cleared her throat. 'Alex's school breaks up this week for Easter, so Evan said he'd take her to his parents in Shropshire tomorrow.'

'That man's got some sense, then.'

'Give him some credit, Gene. He's doing a good job. Can't be easy.'

'All kids need is a lot of love. Everything else is tinsel.'

'She's not the only Alex who adores you, Gene Hunt. And it's not just kids who need loving. Big old coppers need loving, too.'

'You're being a bit hard on yourself, Bolls. I wouldn't call you big and old. Not really.'

She laughed, then, and stretched over to kiss his jaw. 'You'll pay for that one later.'

He raised an eyebrow and chuckled. 'With interest.'

xxxxxxxxxx

She left Gene to sleep, and was in the office by ten. Chris and Lucas were doing a pantomime of slow motion running to catcalls and whistles from the others. Shaz, laughing at them, turned to Alex with a wide grin. 'Morning, Ma'am. Innit great, _Chariots of Fire_ winning the Oscars on Monday night. Best Film, British – amazing.'

'_The British are coming_.'

'Oh, did you watch it last night, Ma'am? Who was it said that again?'

'The writer, Colin Welland. Remember him in Z Cars?'

'Oh, _yeah_… I thought I knew him from somewhere.'

A crash, as Chris fell over Ray's outstretched leg, to cheers and belly laughs.

Alex tapped Ray on the shoulder and beckoned him into the kitchen for a quiet word. 'The Guv's not likely to be in the best of moods this morning. You might do yourself a favour and be out looking for Layton when he gets in. Show willing.'

'We've looked. He's not using his old places.'

'Try looking for the new ones, then.'

'What, random wandering around?'

'I hesitate to make suggestions to such an experienced officer as you, Sergeant Carling, but then perhaps you'd quite like Layton to blow me to smithereens. Eh, Ray?'

The burly Mancunian looked petulant. 'No…'

'Good answer. Then why not take a friend and see what you can do to find him?'

That earned her a black look. 'Where do _you_ suggest we start looking, Detective Inspector?'

'I'd start with all the places you've already looked, in case he thinks you'd never look twice in the same place. Then you could talk to some people he used to know. And some people who are good at hearing things. You know, informants.' She gasped theatrically, as though a mighty idea had struck her. 'He might even have moved to another area of London.'

Ray looked as if smithereens were too good for her, and left the office with a nod to Duffy to follow him.

xxxxxxxxx

Gene had been in for about seven minutes when DCI Clark rang. 'Looks as though Peter Verwey was right. They're going for April Fool's Day.'

Clark's secretary faxed over the note, in child's handwriting. _'Plain language now, as the police don't seem to have the wit to work out our little cryptic clues. __Big bombs go bang tomorrow__. But where? But when? You'll find out soon enough. Sleep well, my little Easter bunnies. xx_

xxxxxxxxxx

TBC

_A/N: '…the sort of kids who'd make a paedophile eat his own sweets' is a line stolen shamelessly from Liverpool genius Willy Russell._


	30. April fools

_Ever more thanks to Wombledon for dialect coaching, religious instruction and good sense, as well as general beta. Thanks to grainweevil for remembering Capital Radio 1982. And a belated thanks to wobble-duck for her translation of Du Bist die Ruh (couldn't find your message until too late, WD!)_

xxxxxxxxxxxx

'_Plain language now, as the police don't seem to have the wit to work out our little cryptic clues. __Big bombS go bang tomorrow__. But where? But when? You'll find out soon enough. Sleep well, my little Easter bunnies. xx_

'What the fuck are we supposed to do with this?' Gene was incandescent. 'We can't evacuate the whole of London, and there's nothing to say it'll even be here. Tell everyone to stay at home tomorrow and bring the entire economy to a grinding halt? What happens if it's a massive hoax? April Fool's Day. The media would come in its collective knickers and the Met would be a laughing stock.'

'What else can we do?' Womble was at Gene's shoulder, reading the fax again. 'Let the fuckers blow up who knows what, and kill who knows how many?'

'We can find the bastards.' Gene snarled. 'Clark and Special Branch have proved themselves so much dead wood. This needs old fashioned honest detective work. Let's prove a point to the taxpayer, shall we?'

'Okay, Guv. I'll do a weapons inventory, see if I can see a pattern. Make some informed guesses about tomorrow.'

Gene set Lucas and Chris on the trail of couriers and priests. 'Get off DCI Clark what's already been done, then start again. Talk to the couriers. Get detailed descriptions of the men they saw. What they wore – and I want details, Lucas. Shabby clothes, or new? Cassock or a suit? Coat and hat – which suggests they were outside for more than a few minutes – or shirtsleeves? How they spoke. Accents, tone, posh, foreign, polite, nervous… Their ages – were their faces lined? Old hands? Old eyes? Hair. Teeth. Moles. Scars. Height. Shape. Anything that gives us a picture of the man under the disguise. I want to know where they were. I mean were they inside a building and had to be summoned, or were they waiting in the doorway? Were they at a church, a school, where? Did they pay by cash, and did they want a receipt? Look for patterns, Lucas. Check the couriers' stories with what the children said who delivered the first bomb threats. If necessary, we'll interview the kids again.'

He went out to Alex desk and leant his fists on her desk to talk to her quietly. 'Jaspan was expecting some information from that Eyetye journalist, wasn't he?'

She nodded, trying to concentrate only on the work, not think about Jim. 'Flavio Zanetti. Want me to chase it up?'

'Mmm. And the German police. See if they've got anywhere with the weapons supply chain.' The smell of her perfume was driving him nuts; he longed to touch her. Kiss her. He stood up and walked away before he lost the battle.

He got hold of Ray to see what he and Duffy were up to, and got an earful of disgruntled sergeant moaning about wasting shoe leather. 'Listen to me carefully, Carling. If it weren't for your DI's realisation that Layton was after Alex Price, and not Alex Drake, that child might be dead by now. If it weren't for your failure to arrive in good time, we would have had the toerag in custody, whining about all the bruises he sustained in his clumsy progress through various doors. He's still out there, thanks to you, and he's still a threat. More so now than before, because he'll feel he needs to prove a point. So do not whinge to me about legwork. Just get on with it and bring me back something useful.'

Yelling at Ray should have made him feel better, but it hadn't. He phoned the garage and booked the Quattro in for a service in the morning, then told Shaz he'd be in Luigi's for an hour. _Need to think. Need to get out of here._

An hour and three whiskies later, Womble trotted down the steps to Luigi's and joined Gene at his table. 'What about ye, Guv?'

'Gene.'

'Okay. What about ye, Gene?'

'Hmm.' He blew out a breath. 'Want a drink? Luigi!' Gene scrutinised the Ulsterman as he ordered a Jamesons. Five ten, sporty build needing a bit of exercise, shock of dark hair and eyes a clear, tawny brown. Intelligent, guarded face. 'Do you like being called Womble?'

'Suits me.'

'Does not.'

'No, I mean it's expedient. Gives people a certain impression. How would you describe a womble?'

'Soft, cuddly, harmless. Shambolic. Not serious.'

'Exactly. Make you think of a policeman dealing with explosives and terrorists?'

'No. No… Clever.'

'The only flies on me pay rent. Victims and witnesses are more likely to talk to a Womble.'

Gene nodded, slowly. 'Trying to tell me something?'

'No. You asked.' Womble smiled. 'Carol calls me Roger.'

'Carol's no fool. How are things with her?'

'Good. Early days, but possibly very good indeed.'

'You're based in Belfast.'

'Yes, but if the IRA are ramping up their campaign on the mainland, as the rumours suggest, there'll be a job for me in the Met.'

'Carol's not going to like you fossicking about with bombs.'

'Bombs are nice predictable things on the whole. It's the bombers who scare me. Even then, the politicos are reasonably straightforward. They want power, and they don't want to waste more time, money or lives than they have to. The headers are the problem. No agenda. No rationale. Just the fun of killing. The buzz of seeing people terrified. Big men with big dicks, that's what they want to be.'

'Yes.'

Womble gave Gene a sharp look. 'You sound like you have the world on your back. Things not going well with Alex?'

'Christ… Is there anyone who doesn't know the details of my personal life?' He glared at the Irishman. 'Actually, Alex and I are fine. If you must know, she moved in with me at the weekend. But if you tell anyone except Carol I'll pull your stuffing out and kick you all over the Common.'

Womble grinned. 'We're two right lucky bastards.'

'Not likely to get bored, are we?'

Their laughter took Luigi by surprise. He poured his two customers another drink and pushed the glasses across the counter. '_Complimenti della casa, signori_. I like to hear your laughter. Is good sound.' He beamed at them, and melted away to the kitchen.

Alex heard the laughs as she walked down to the bar, and came in smiling. She sat next to Gene and was grabbed for an enthusiastic kiss. 'Gene…? I thought we were being discreet?'

'Oh, Roger and Carol don't count. I've told him that you've moved in.'

Alex and Womble swapped amused glances. 'Has Gene told you about our new tenant?'

Womble shook his head.

Gene snorted. 'Little sod. Seems to think we're there for his convenience. Costs a fortune to feed and pleases himself.'

Alex leaned forward, confidingly. 'Four month old kitten. Adorable. Gene's in thrall to him. Sweet talks him when he thinks I'm not looking.'

'I do not.'

Alex jerked her head in Gene's direction and raised her eyebrows, grinning.

'Cat's a bloody liability. Almost as bad as having a woman in the house. No peace. Always demanding something.' He put a hand beneath Alex's chin and turned her face to him, kissing her tenderly. He put his lips to her ear and whispered '_Love you._' Then pulled sharply away from her, as though she was pestering him. '_Tsk_. Give over. We're busy men, Bolly. What do you want?'

Alex ignored him, turning to Womble. 'You'll have to come and meet the cat. Did Carol tell you? Lunch on Easter Saturday, all being well.'

'Yes, thanks. Look forward to it.'

'Do you mind?' Gene growled at them, tapping a long finger on the bar. 'We've bastards to catch first.'

Over beer and sandwiches, the two DIs brought him up to date.

'The 1940s Panzerfausts almost certainly _didn't_ come from Germany. Ulrich Strauss turned up a note in the files which brought the business back to London.' Alex paused for dramatic effect. 'A case of mint condition Panzerfausts went missing in 1976 from the Imperial War Museum.'

Gene banged his head on the table. 'God Allbloodymighty… Did they report it?'

'Yes, to Special Branch, apparently, but the Museum armourer at the time "retired" soon afterwards, and Strauss says no-one there is able to tell him more.'

'And Branch haven't turned this up.'

Alex shrugged. 'You could ring Graham Clark.'

'I'll wring his neck.'

'Zanetti is working on Grenville. He's got him linked with Propaganda Due through a rather exclusive Masonic lodge in Knightsbridge. P2 was operating illegally from 1976 till last year. Grenville's not actually a member, but his name and phone number are in the little black book belonging to Lucio Gelli – P2's leader. He was arrested last year over the Banco Ambrosiano scandal.'

'Where does that get us?'

'Nowhere with tomorrow's bomb, but it's another length of rope round Grenville's neck.'

'Good.' Gene turned to Womble. 'So what about tomorrow's bomb, Inspector Molotov?'

'I don't think it, or they, will be big in terms of casualties. I reckon they'll go for panic and publicity again. It's not in their interests to cause major loss of life. Not at this stage, anyway. The terror of a big bomb is more effective before the bomb than afterwards.'

Gene turned to Alex. 'Make sense to you, Bolly?'

'Yes. The devastating incidents turn people to anger and defiance rather than fear, which is not what Grenville and his faction will want yet. They need the country to be petrified of what might happen, and desperate for someone to find a way to save them. Step up Sir Richard Grenville and the Fascist Bastard Party. Vote for me and a whiter Britain. _Then_ they might do something lethal, to rouse the anger against those the public believes are planting them.'

'Asians and Jews.' Gene looked thunderous. 'Which is why they firebombed the school. Got the Hindus to firebomb the school. Bingo – war between immigrants. A new Cable Street. To a man who'd get rid of his own son in law like an unwanted animal, a few brown brats are expendable. Cold hearted, murdering bastard.'

His fingers clenched ever tighter round his pint glass until Alex thought it might shatter. She put a hand on his, and he let go of the glass; she left her hand where it was, her thumb stroking his wrist gently. After a moment, he glanced at her and gave her the slightest of nods. There was a moment of quiet, while the atmosphere cooled down a little.

'So they've progressed up a scale of violence.' Womble ticked off a list on his fingers. 'We've had pyrotechnics at the Mint – lots of sparks and noise for the media, but little actual damage. Then two small panzerfausts, one of which didn't even detonate. Cuts and bruises, shock and nightmares. They moved up a gear for the House of Commons, but again, plenty of clear warning. No-one was meant to die – certainly not one of their own.'

None of them mentioned the decoy message which drew Gene into the building seconds before the panzerfaust was fired.

Gene drummed his fingers on the table. 'So you reckon it'll be more smoke and mirrors tomorrow?'

'It's an educated guess, Gene. No more. I could be very wrong. They probably have enough high explosive to cause a really nasty incident. I'm fairly sure they've also got another new panzerfaust. The Germans are developing a more powerful version, and two prototype weapons went missing from Dynamit-Nobel last year, along with three Amatol warheads.'

Gene slapped the table. 'Come on. Let's go back and see what Lucas has turned up. And you never know, Ray might have found Layton and the Carterets playing strip poker at Lyons Corner House.'

Alex got to her feet. 'By the way, did anyone talk to Lucilla Sharma again after Harry was killed? Her half-brother. She might be upset enough to tell us something.'

'Ring Clark and ask. If not, we'll go and see her now, Bolls.'

Nobody had spoken to Lucilla Grenville. Nobody had spoken to Savitri Sharma. Clark didn't know they were one and the same. Alex handed the phone to Womble so he could update the Branch DCI about the Imperial War Museum, and his strategic thinking.

xxxxxxxxx

At the house in Elder Street, Lucilla Sharma was a pathetic sight. A month after her husband's murder, she looked as if she'd barely moved since she'd had news of his death. She was in baggy grey sweatshirt and leggings, her Hindu clothes abandoned, hair lank, body unwashed; to Alex she looked like a psychiatric hospital inmate, all interest in life expunged, subsisting on tranquillisers and cigarettes. The house stank of stale smoke, over the odour from vases full of long-dead flowers rotting in scummy water. There were two overflowing ashtrays on the coffee table and another on the arm of the chair in which the young woman sat.

'Mrs Sharma. Have you spoken to your father?'

'No.'

'Do you have any idea where he is?'

The young woman shrugged to suggest that she didn't know, and didn't care.

'Could you give us some ideas of where he might be?'

'On his way to hell, I hope. Ask his secretary.'

'I'm asking you.' Gene was losing patience.

'Lucilla…'

'My name is Savitri.' She snapped at Alex.

'Is the house in Flood Street the only property your father owns, Savitri?'

'Of course not.'

Gene's foot was tapping on the oak floorboards. 'God, it's like pulling teeth. Where are his other houses?'

'Buckland Monachorum. Geneva. Antibes. Nassau.'

'Lovely. Free holidays the year round. Anywhere else?'

'He has a boat on the Tamar.'

'Addresses and phone numbers, please.'

Lucilla ignored Gene. 'You're Alex Drake.'

'Yes.'

'You killed my brother.'

Gene got to his feet and gestured to Alex to stand up. 'Your brother, Mrs Sharma, was entirely responsible for his own death, and partly responsible for at least three others, including that of an eight year old child, and your own husband.'

She was fixed on Alex. 'Harry loved you. He told me.' Her eyes swivelled back to Gene. 'And you. Hunt. I know about you.'

'Bully for you, love. Are you going to give me those addresses, or do I need to come back with a warrant?'

Lucilla jumped up and ran to the kitchen. Alex began to follow her, but within ten seconds she was back, and hurled something at Gene with a shriek. The small object bounced off his chest, and he bent to pick it up. A slim address book. He flicked through it and tucked it into an inside pocket. 'Right. You've been hospitality itself, love, but we really must be off.'

He ushered Alex out ahead of him and left without a backward look.

In the car, Gene flicked through the address.'Charming woman. Such delightful manners.'

'She went to Millfield. What do you expect?'

Gene tossed her the address book and started the car. 'Right. Let's go back and see if Lucas is back with all the answers.'

Back at the station, Alex phoned DCI Clark to give him Grenville's addresses and the location of his boat, moored in the Tamar Estuary. 'Didn't know about the boat, but makes sense. Descended from Drake and Raleigh, and all that. Cheers, Alex. We'll get the local CID to take a look.'

Womble was off with the bomb squad making contingency plans. Lucas was back with a lot of information from the couriers but was struggling to analyse it; Alex got the big flip chart and the white board and treated it as a logic puzzle; Gene sat with his feet up on Ray's desk and watched as Alex extracted the information from Lucas and Chris, with Shaz writing everything up on the board bit by bit.

It took over an hour, but by seven thirty, most of the grids were filled in, and everyone was flagging. While Shaz and Chris made a round of teas and coffees, which was a good excuse for ten minutes to themselves in the kitchen, Gene phoned over to Luigi with an order for pizza, beer and Pepsi. 'How long, Luigi? Okay. Someone'll be over.' He dropped the phone on its cradle and sat back, looking at his team.

'Right. Food will arrive in half an hour. Time for a bit of thinking time. Bolly, over to you.'

Alex turned to Chris. 'What do you see, Chris? What do you notice that stands out like a sore thumb?'

Put on the spot, with the Guv watching, the DC froze. Alex encouraged him. 'You're observant, Chris. Good at noticing things. Take your time.' She turned to the rest of them. 'Come on, you lot. Look at what's here. Say what you see. Gene?'

'Where on your grid is the information from the courier that delivered today's message?'

Alex looked at Lucas for an answer. He flicked through his notebook. 'Chris, which was it?'

The two detectives looked blankly at each other, and Lucas glanced at Alex before turning to Gene. 'Haven't got it, Guv. He's not on the list we got from Special Branch.'

'You'd better get on to it, then, hadn't you, Lucas?' He gestured at the desks in the room. 'There are some telephones, take your pick.' Gene looked at Alex, eyebrows raised, waiting for her response.

She gave him an approving nod. 'Excellent, Guv. So, everyone. Anything that occurs to you. Look for the odd ones out. Yes, Shaz?'

She pointed at one entry in the list of locations. 'St Francis's. They're Franciscans, yeah?'

Alex nodded. 'Uh-huh.'

'But it says here that the man at St Francis was wearing a black cloak and a white "frock".'

'Okay, Shaz. Which suggests what?'

'That he was a Dominican – a Blackfriar. So why would he work at a Franciscan church – they're the Greyfriars. And he was standing on the steps when the courier turned up, so he may not have come out of the church at all.'

'Good. Not conclusive, but an anomaly. Thanks, Shaz. Excellent. Now, if we can…'

She was interrupted by the noisy arrival of Duffy and Ray, trailing smoke and beer fumes.

Gene rose to his feet. 'Nice day out, boys? In my office.'

Duffy, as usual, said little, perhaps to stop himself choking on the sad moustache dangling from his top lip. He leaned his lanky frame against the filing cabinets and let his DS do the talking.

'The word on the street is that Layton's a busted flush, Guv. He's doing a bit of dealing, but it's small stuff. Bit of charlie, a few pills, whacky baccy. Hampstead, Highgate, Belsize Park. Plenty of money and lots of shadowy corners. But the buzz is all about explosives coming into the city. Nothing more specific than that, but I've told them to keep their ears pricked.'

While the two moustaches were justifying themselves to Gene, Alex took the others through all the locations looking for anomalies. 'Shaz – you said something about not coming out of the church. What about the others?'

Only two of the clients had been inside when the couriers arrived. A priest at Lady Immaculate in Chelsea was discovered hovering just inside the door of the church; same thing at the Priory in Victoria ParkSquare.

Alex frowned. 'Lucas – chuck me the A to Z, would you?' As she was looking up the address, Gene's office door opened and the three men emerged.

'Gene – isn't Victoria Park Square near you?'

'Not far. Why?'

'Do you know the Priory?'

'Know where it is. Got drunk with the priest once.'

'Trust you. Where? When?'

'In the Crown, last summer. Just after you arrived, in fact. You'd driven me to drink, as per usual, and this priest sat down and started moaning about his lot. Joyce, his name was. Father Joyce.'

'Nothing to do with James?'

'What? Oh. No. Some distant cousin of William, actually.'

'Who?'

'God save us.' Gene dropped his head in despair, then addressed the room. 'Anyone better educated than Bolly who knows who William Joyce was?'

'Lord Haw-Haw.' Ray, Lucas and Shaz answered together.

'Oh.' Alex flushed. 'Bit before my time, Gene.'

'Hardly. When were you born? You're what, forty one now…'

'Thirty six, Guv, as you well know.'

'Don't look a day over thirty seven, Bolls.' He turned away from her, knowing he'd have to make amends for this later. Hoping so, anyway.

'_All right_… thanks, Guv.' Alex was smarting, but she couldn't argue. Of course she'd have been born just after the war. Except she was actually born in 1965.

Gene was dispatching troops across the road to fetch food. 'I want you straight back here, not having a quick pint on the sly. If you're not back in five minutes I'll be coming to find you, and you won't want that.'

Duffy, Chris and Poirot dived out, leaving the rest of them to keep at it. Alex tapped Lucas on the shoulder. 'Take Ray through this, would you? See if a pair of fresh eyes picks up anything.' She left them to it, and went and perched on the desk where Gene was sitting. 'Go on then, what about this Father Joyce?'

'All I remember is him whining on about being old and tired. Said he wanted to quit. Couldn't cope with it.'

'Seen him since?'

'No. Poor old sod upped and died not long after. Landlady at the boozer said he was found in the confessional. Took all those secrets with him.'

The phone rang; Shaz answered and handed it to Lucas, who grabbed a notebook and pen and started talking, and scribbling furiously. Half a minute later the three delivery boys burst back in with arms full of sustenance, and everything stopped for beer and pizza.

'Guv?' Lucas had his notebook in one hand and pizza in the other. 'Spoken to last week's courier. He picked up from the Priory near Victoria Park. St Dominic's, is it? A nun was waiting for him by the gate.'

'A nun? What, in the full Deborah Kerr kit?'

'Er, ordinary sort of nun, Guv. Normal black dress and sensible shoes, and a short black veil thingy.'

'What did she look like, this _ordinary_ nun?'

'Just told you, Guv.'

'No, you div. What did I tell you this morning? All you've told me is what she wore. What did she look like?'

'He didn't say, Guv.'

'You mean you didn't ask. How many times did your mother have to wipe your arse before you remembered to do it for yourself, Lucas?'

'Sorry, Guv.'

'Shaz – write it up, and put a big red circle round Victoria Park Priory. Someone there might recognise some mug shots. Come on, Drake. Let's go and annoy the god squad. The rest of you go home. I want you in here at seven tomorrow morning with clean knickers on. And wear your galoshes – we have scum to clear away.'

xxxxxxxxxxx

St Dominic's parish church, and the priory attached to it, were closed up, doors locked, no lights visible. Gene hammered on the priory door, but with no effect. 'Come on, you bastards, open up,' he muttered.

'It's after ten, Gene. They'll be in bed.'

'With each other? Dirty devils.'

Alex tutted at him. 'After compline at eight, they probably observe a silence till they have to get up for Lauds at dawn.'

'Dawn?'

'They're monks, Gene, that's what they do.'

'How come you're such an expert?'

'Catholic schooling.'

'Well unless you can have a word with God and get him to smite Carteret and Grenville into little piles of demon dust, we might as well go home. Come back first thing.'

Stopping at the junction of Grove Road, Gene looked to his left, and turned the car that way, parking a few yards up the road, opposite the Crown, a big rambling Victorian pub near the bridge across the canal. 'Come on. Quickie won't hurt.'

He leant on the bar and flashed a smile at the landlady who, if she were shy, hid it well. She batted her lashes at Gene. 'Hello, my darling. Haven't seen you in here for a while.'

'No, well, I'm not much of a drinker, love.'

Alex must have looked gobsmacked, as the landlady chortled at the look on her face. 'Not what you would say, eh, sweetheart?'

'I couldn't possibly comment.'

'Ignore her. I'll have a scotch and so will she. Make mine a double.' Gene leaned across the bar confidingly. 'She's a bit disappointed, poor love. Wanted to visit St Dominic's round the corner. She was baptised there, weren't you, Bolls?'

She nodded. 'I've been away for a while. Thought it would be nice to see the old place again.'

'Holloway. To look at her, you'd never think, would you? Butter wouldn't melt…' Gene was enjoying himself, and the landlady was hooked.

Alex played up to it, and hissed at him. 'You promised you wouldn't say anything.'

'All forgiven now, though, eh? Turned over a new leaf, she has. What a difference – you'd never believe it if you'd met her before.'

'Okay, Gene, this nice lady doesn't want to listen to gossip.'

The nice lady was agog. 'Nah, you're all right, sweetie. I like a good story. I'm Rita, by the way. So what was it, then?'

'She had a nice little specialism. Looked good as a nun, didn't you, Bolls? Bishops, MPs, judges, they all liked Bolly here to teach them a few manners, isn't that right?'

He got a scalding look off Alex, and chuckled. 'Oh, eck, now I'm in trouble.' He leaned across the bar confidingly. 'With a bit of luck.' He winked at the landlady with a knowing smile.

Alex stuck her oar in. 'That's all in the past. I have a new life now, and I wanted to see if anyone at the Priory still remembered old Father Gleeson.'

'Wouldn't think so, love. There's a funny bunch in there now. Hey, one of my regulars was giving me a bit of gossip about that place earlier. He was working in there, and he overheard someone having a kinky shag, getting whipped and shouting about pain like it's a hymn. All hallelujahs and holies.' She winked at Gene.

But Gene wasn't laughing. 'Hang on, love. This bloke shouting. Was it 'Sanctified be pain, glorified be pain'… something like that?'

'Sounds about right, darling, yes.'

'When was this?'

'Ask him yourself.' She yelled across the room. 'Oi, Lighthouse!' A man with a shaven head looked round. The landlady jerked her head in Gene's direction. 'Couple here want to meet yer.'

The man wandered over, a big smile splitting his round face. He was almost as broad as he was tall, with great beefy shoulders and a barrel chest, but he barely came up to Gene's shoulder. 'Awright, mate. Edward Stone. Eddie.' He stuck out a meaty paw for Gene to shake.

'Gene. This is Bolly.'

Eddie shook her hand too, and his smile widened into an appreciative grin as he looked up at her. 'Allo. You brighten this place up no end.' He looked like a circus strong man, she thought; a kind face, his big china blue eyes shining with open interest.

'What're you drinking, Eddie?' Gene waved at the landlady, waiting for the man's order.

'Ginger beer, mate, ta.'

'Want a whisky in it?'

'No, ta.' He saw Gene's surprise. 'Alcoholic, mate. Anyway, whatcha want to meet me for?'

They took their drinks across to a table and sat away from Rita's flapping ears. Eddie, it turned out, was a plumber, and was called in to deal with a blocked outflow at the Priory. He needed little encouragement to retell the story.

'Last Friday, it was. Up to me ears in shit and I hears these noises coming from a window just along from where I was. Not the sorts of noises you'd expect to hear around a church, if you know what I mean.' He looked a bit bashful.

'Don't mind her, Eddie. Nothing shocks Bolly, does it, Bolls?'

She shrugged.

'Looks innocent as a nun up to her knees in edelweiss, doesn't she? But I tell you, Eddie mate, she shocks me rigid most days. If you get my drift.' Gene nudged the plumber in a Pythonesque pantomime and got a fruity chuckle in return as he gazed at Alex in a new light.

All she could think about was shocking Gene rigid; the secret little smile on her face was giving Gene ideas, and when she looked up and caught his eye, the effect was instant.

Eddie, caught in the crossfire, cleared his throat. 'Anyway…'

'Sorry, go on.' Gene dragged his attention away from his woman and back to the little plumber.

'Funny you mentioning nuns, cos I could hear a man and a woman in this room, enjoying themselves, if you know what I mean. Then he starts shouting about holy pain, or sacred… or something. Pain, anyway. And then there was this cracking, slapping sort of sound, and a scream and more shouting.' He giggled. 'Honest, you couldn't make it up. Anyway, I had to get a squiz at this, so I snuck up and peered over the sill, just for a second. I nearly gave myself away cos I was laughing so hard, and I had to duck out of sight. But I tell you, mate, I ain't going to forget that picture in a hurry. Bleedin' priceless.' He paused, for effect, looking from one to the other, gauging his audience.

Gene was impatient. 'Well, what?'

'Naked bloke, banging away at a woman, with this young lad laying into the bloke's arse with a cat o'nine tails. Swear to god.' He was chuckling as he spoke. 'Lad was wearing a white… wotsit… habit, and the woman was starkers except for a wimple on her head. She was bent over a desk and it was her doing the screaming, and the naked bloke was shouting all this holy crap.' Eddie wiped a tear from his eye, still laughing. 'Better than a porno film.'

Gene wasn't laughing. 'How old was this boy?'

'Oh, old enough. Not a kid.'

'Would you recognise them, do you think?' Alex asked him.

'To be honest, darlin', I wasn't looking at their faces.'

'Can you describe them at all?' Alex persisted.

'Er…' He looked off to the left, seeing the picture in his head. The lad had sticky-up ginger hair, and the bloke looked foreign. Spanish, maybe. Dark, you know. Bird had a lovely white arse…' He suddenly realised the atmosphere had changed. 'Hang on, what is all this?'

In a cold rage, Gene was on his feet and pulling on his coat. 'Right. Come on.'

Alex gave Eddie a five pound note and put a hand on his shoulder. 'Thanks, Eddie. Buy your mates a round. Sorry, got to run.' She left the plumber open-mouthed, and ran after Gene. He was already in the Quattro, turning the key in the ignition and whipping the car into a U-turn as soon as she was in her seat.

'Sick, twisted, murdering bastard.' He was muttering. 'Half a mile from my bloody house. Right under my bloody nose.'

_He's right – they're poison_. _Poor love. Brought it all back to him. _'By the way, what was all that stuff in there about me being a hooker?'

'Salacious gossip. Irresistible to a woman like that. Easiest way to get her jabbering. Why, worried about your reputation?'

'No... Only opinion I care about these days is yours.'

Gene slammed the brakes on and slewed the car to a halt in Globe Road, then reversed, and turned under an archway into Victoria Park Square. Before opening the car door, he leant across and kissed her. 'Ditto.'

The high wall behind the priory was topped with broken glass to deter climbers; the big gates were shut and barred; too high for Gene to see over the top, he gestured Alex over to him. 'Bolls, here. I'll give you a leg up.'

But there was precious little to see. A big open yard, devoid of anything much except a bulky heap covered in a tarpaulin. Some outbuildings along the side wall were closed and dark, as was every window at the back of both priory and church. After venting his feelings in a long stream of curses, Gene kicked the gate in frustrated rage. 'How long before we got here, do you think?'

'What, when they left?' Alex shrugged. 'Doesn't matter, does it? We missed them.'

'They're out there now, planting bombs, the fucking cowards.'

'They'll be back, though.'

Gene stopped fuming for a moment and looked at her, eyes narrowed. 'Back here?'

'They've got to come back. Where else can they go? If it was the Carterets that Eddie saw last Friday, they must have come back here after the House of Commons. They think they're safe here… I bet you they've been set up here for years. That's probably why your Father Joyce wanted out.'

'Not because he was tired. Because he realised what Carteret was really like. What he was planning. Christ… they killed him. Oh, Jesus…' Gene put a hand to his head. 'They saw him talking to me. Thought he'd grassed them up. _Jesus_…'

'You can't know that, Gene.' She put a hand on his chest. 'You're making seven and a half again.'

'I'd bet my pension on it.'

They went back to the Quattro. 'No point in us staying here, Gene. They know your car, and what are two of us going to do if they all turn up? Speak to Clark.'

'The Defective Cheese Inspector? He'll do fuck all.' He grabbed the radio. 'Hunt. Find me Chief Superintendent Cruickshank. Special Branch. Cheers, love.'

It was a couple of minutes before Cruickshank's voice squawked from the radio. 'Hunt? What's happened?'

'We've found the nest, sir, but the vultures have flown.' Gene gave him a digest of the evening's events. 'Can you get us a warrant, sir?'

'On the basis of bit of gossip and a few flimsy bits of circumstantial evidence? Raid a priory the week before Easter? You haven't got a prayer.'

'Oh, ha ha. Sir.'

'I'll get a team up there now. Get away from the priory, Gene. That bloody Audi is not easy to miss.'

'But…'

'Listen to me, DCI Hunt. Find a public phone box and ring this number in the next five minutes.' He dictated the number and hung up.

'Right, Gene.' Cruickshank picked up after the first ring. 'You're alone?'

'Apart from DI Drake.'

'Alex is in the phone box with you?' Cruickshank laughed. 'Figures. Okay. I'm sending in a team to wait for our birds to return. If they get bored waiting they might have a look around. They're a clumsy bunch – always knocking over piles of paper and stumbling into filing cabinets. Now go home. There's nothing more you two can do tonight.'

'If you insist, sir.'

'I insist. And don't go near the priory in the morning, do you hear me? I want you straight in to Fenchurch East unless you hear from me in person. Do I make myself clear?'

'Sir.'

'Don't sound so grudging, Gene. A good night's work. Well done.'

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As soon as she put the key in the lock, she could hear Dino screaming his head off. The little cat was on the stairs, his head through the banisters at exactly the right height to butt heads with Gene. He climbed through the rails, hopped on to his buddy's shoulder and purred as he rode through to the sitting room. Alex trailed after them, grinning to see the bond already so strong between kitten and man.

Gene slumped on the sofa and held his hand out to Alex, but she stayed on her feet. 'I'll feed the cat. Want a drink?'

'Cat can wait for two minutes. I need a kiss first.'

'If I sit down I won't get up again.'

With a huge sigh, Gene pushed the kitten gently off his shoulder and dragged himself to his feet, groaning. 'Christ. Unfeeling woman you are. Come here.' He held Alex's face between his palms, softly kissing the corner of her mouth, her eyebrow, her cheek. He touched his tongue to her bottom lip, then groaned as she slid her tongue into his mouth, her hands sneaking under his jacket and round his waist, pulling him tight against her. When they broke apart, they were both panting.

'Let's go straight to bed.' Alex bit his chin tenderly.

'There I am, trying to be romantic, and all you want is sex.' He nibbled at her ear, growling.

'Only if you're up to it.' She dabbed little kisses along his jaw.

'I think I can cope.' He ran a hand down her back, over the curve of her arse.

'Go on up, then, and I'll bring you a drink when I've fed your cat.'

Gene pulled back a little, his gaze intense. 'No, you go up first. I love going upstairs to discover you in my bed. Don't think I'll ever get used to that. Dream come true, Bolls.' He smoothed his thumb across her lips.

'For me, too.' She stroked his face with the back of her hand. 'Don't be long.'

He fed Dino and watched him eat for a few minutes while he had a last cigarette, amazed at how much pleasure it gave him to have something to look after. He poured a glass of wine for Alex and a malt for himself, turned the lights out, and went up. He pushed open the bedroom door with his foot; his heart turned over at the sight of Alex lying on the bed, the bown polka dot dressing gown tied at the waist, its satin folds falling open to reveal pearly flesh. One arm lay above her head, the other flung wide across the bed, welcoming him.

She held her hand out to him; fire danced from the ring, back on her finger. 'Come to bed, my love.'

He put their drinks down, took her hand and kissed it; she sat up and tugged him down beside her. He began to take off his tie, but Alex stopped him. 'Let me do that for you.' She stood up and nudged his knees wider apart so she could stand close, and slowly unknotted his tie; she pushed his jacket off his shoulders, and undid his shirt buttons, her movements gentle, unhurried.

Gene stroked her side, feeling her firm flesh beneath the fabric; he undid the belt and slid his hands inside the dressing gown, stroking her satin skin, his eyes following his fingers, caressing the soft curves of her belly, watching the skin ripple over her ribs as she pushed off his shirt. She was about to move, when he stilled her.

'Wait. Just… wait.' He smoothed his palms up over her ribcage till he held her breasts cupped in his hands; he leaned forward to kiss each nipple, feeling the aureole contract and harden in his mouth.

Alex groaned, her hands holding his head; as he suckled, he ran his hands over her back and down to her arse, pulling her towards him.

'Need you, Gene…' She pushed him away and knelt between his legs, looking up into his eyes, her pupils wide with desire. She pushed him back so he was propped on his hands, then she unbuckled his belt and, slowly, holding his gaze, unzipped him. She tugged off his boots and socks, then everything else.

Gene watched as she rose to her feet, standing before him, and shrugged off the dressing gown, the satin slithering down her body into a pool at her feet, leaving her naked, perfect, his. 'Alex. My beautiful love.'

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

In the morning they dropped the car into Dave's garage at the arches in Chamber Street just before seven, and walked round to Scarborough Street, where there was a message for Gene to call Cruickshank when he got in.

The Branch chief picked up immediately. 'Gene. Morning. Congratulations.'

'For?'

'The birds flocked home just after five this morning, and we netted the lot, thanks to you.'

'Team effort, sir. Got all of them?'

'Almost.'

'Carteret?'

'No show. Either he's still at a bomb target, watching, or he got wind of trouble and scarpered. I suspect he's planning to watch the results of his efforts.'

'What about Grenville?'

'Yes, your tip off about the boat. Turned out to be a cruiser moored at Saltash. Clark suspects his daughter warned him, as the local plods got there just too late. Half-eaten supper on the table, and the radiator was still warm. We checked, by the way, and he has a motorboat in Antibes and another in Nassau. So much for his illustrious seafaring ancestry – the man won't even risk the Bay of Biscay, let alone the Atlantic.'

'Tell me, sir. What exactly has DCI Clark been doing? How come he's still not found Grenville, for instance?'

'It suits us not to find Grenville yet, Gene, which is why the Devon plods got to the boat late. His absence from society gives us opportunities to sniff about. Certain people have become very nervous at Grenville's disappearance, which gives us ideas. DCI Clark has been chasing down the multifarious leads that Jim Jaspan gave us, tracking back links to various unsavoury groups of people around Europe, and has been digging up skeletons long buried.'

'I do hope you're talking metaphorically, sir.'

'Mostly. Fret not, Gene. When it suits us to have the fox out of his earth, we'll dig him out.'

'So what now, sir?'

'We wait. Hospitals and fire brigade are on alert; there's nothing more we can do, unless one of our Priory birds turns canary. They're saying nothing so far.'

'Let me talk to them, sir.'

Cruickshank chuckled. 'I don't think so, Gene. Not even I could explain that one away.'

'We'll wait to hear, then, sir.'

'Don't do anything rash, Gene. Either of you. I haven't got time for hospital visits.'

'People keep saying that to me.'

'Take notice, then.'

By eight, the team was in; Gene packed Duffy off to Haverstock Hill to meet up with his oppo in Hampstead CID and keep on Layton's tracks. Alex was helping Lucas and Shaz get the previous night's analysis off the white board and into the files; Gene sent Poirot up to the Crown to track down Eddie the plumber and get a statement off him. Everyone else was drinking too much tea and getting twitchy.

Gene's phone rang at eight twenty five. He listened, scribbling notes, then hung up and came out to the main office. 'Right. Kick-off. Warnings have been phoned through to the media, for bombs going off at ten to nine, in four locations. Bush House, Holborn Viaduct, the Athenaeum in Piccadilly, and the Passport Office in Petty France. We've been instructed to stay put until further notice.' At the general groan of frustration that met this last comment, he put his hands out to hush them. 'Since none of us will be able to concentrate on much for the next half hour, I suggest you fill in your expenses claims or clear out your desk drawers or something constructive, not just gossiping like Wigan housewives.' He looked at Alex. 'Bolly, a word.'

She followed him into his office. 'Something you want me to do, Guv?'

With an impressively straight face, he looked up at her. 'One or two things occur to me, DI Drake. But regrettably, we are somewhat constrained this morning. So for the time being, I thought you'd like to hear the latest from Broadway.' He passed on Cruickshank's news, then dropped his voice, fiddling with a file as though showing her something. 'I'm going to tell them now, but after that I'm going to the evidence room. Five minutes.'

'Right, Guv.' Alex shot him a wicked look before she turned and left his office. 'If I must.' Five minutes later, Alex pushed open the door to the evidence room and closed it behind her, making sure it was firmly shut. 'Gene?' she whispered.

There was a shadowy movement; a hand reached out and touched her shoulder. '_Alex_…' She was in his arms, held tight for thirty seconds before he let her breathe.

'You okay?'

'Better now.' He put his head back and groaned. 'My god, Bolls. I want this over with.' She stroked his hair, and he looked at her then, a hand behind her head, the other sliding down her arm to take her free hand. 'Want to be able to relax with you. Enjoy you. No more threats to you, or me, come to that. We can get your daughter back, and have a go at being a family.'

Her tears welled; she was shaking from the rush of feeling for him. 'You amazing man… I love you so much.' She frowned, looking at his face, touching the scar beside his mouth, running her fingers over his eyebrow as she lost herself in his eyes. 'How come it took me so long to see you?' She buried her face in his neck, and he hugged her tighter.

'Armour, Bolls. We've both been hurt too badly, too often. After a while, it's easier to keep everyone at bay than risk more scars.'

'Who's the psychologist now? I didn't even know I was wearing armour.'

'Best sort of armour, that, if you need to be safe. Hardest to take off, though.'

'Felt deathly cold. Till you put your arms round me. So warm…' Her hands snaked under his jacket and round his waist, and she was held against his heart, safe, at peace… complete.

'You brought me to life again, Alex. Now I've got you, I've got something to live for. Not letting you go, Bolls. It'd kill me. Love you too much.'

Just as he touched his mouth to hers, a voice in the corridor brought the world back. Ray, calling through the double doors: 'Viv? Seen the Guv?'

'_Shit_…' Gene grabbed the nearest box file off the top of a filing cabinet, and with a rueful smile, he vanished through the door. 'Raymondo? Looking for me?'

Their voices faded, and ten seconds later, Alex slipped out of the evidence room and followed them back to CID. Ray was talking urgently to Gene; Lucas was on the phone, drumming his fingers on the desk; the others were in tense little groups.

'Shaz? What's happened.'

'Media's been given new locations, Ma'am. All police stations.'

'Christ… Which?'

'Scotland Yard, Bow Street, er, Snow Hill and the Wellington Memorial.'

'Is there still a police station there?'

'Yes, Ma'am. Lucas's wife works there.'

Ray had brought the radio out of the kitchen and was plugging it in by Chris's desk. 'Radio Four, Ray. _Today_ programme.'

'No, Boss. Capital Radio. They've got the Flying Eye.' Chris tuned it swiftly, but it was just music. Madness. '… _one better day_…'

Then Mike Smith's voice broke into the track. 'There's news coming in of explosions at Hyde Park Corner and Covent Garden… sorry… just… and two more, in Holborn and New Scotland Yard. That's all we know at the moment, but we'll bring you news as we get it.'

Gene's phone rang. He strode over and snatched it up. 'What?'

'Guv, there's a crowd of reporters and cameras at the end of the street…'

Alex's phone rang. It was Luigi. 'Signorina Drake. My place is full of paparazzi. They want to speak…' There was a scuffling noise, then a rough London voice. 'Is that Alex Drake?'

'Who's that?'

'Walter Burns, Daily Mirror. What can you tell me about the threat to Fenchurch East?'

'Speak to the Chief Superintendent's office.' She hung up, and the phone rang again immediately. 'Yes, what?'

It was Dorney. 'Is Hunt there?'

'On the phone, sir.'

'The press have been tipped off that there's a bomb due to go off here. What do you know about this?'

'News to us, too, sir. There were only four bombs threatened, and they've all just gone off. First I heard about anything here was a call just now from a reporter over at Luigi's.'

'We're evacuating, in any case. Get everyone out of CID and into St Mark's Street, Alex. Not the normal gathering point, you hear? Away from the press.' He'd hung up before she could reply.

Everyone was clustered round the radio. Shaz told Alex what had been reported so far. 'Car bombs, Ma'am. All in black Jags. Loud explosion, shattered glass, lots of smoke…'

'Okay, Shaz, thanks.' She ran to Gene's office. 'Guv… Chief Super wants us out of the building now. Bomb scare here. Full evacuation to St Mark's Street.'

Gene shot her a piercing look, and strode out, clapping his hands for attention. '_Listen to me!_ Turn that thing off, Chris…' The radio went silent. 'We may have a bomb here. Evacuate the building now. Follow DI Drake. And there's a press mob out there. Keep your mouths shut.' He nodded to Alex, who led them out. 'Do _not_ stop to collect your things, you pillocks. _Get out._' He made a last check to see that no-one was in the kitchen, and followed them.

The lobby was crammed with people trying to get out, but it was calm enough. Uniforms and civilian staff were walking to the corner and gathering on the far side of St Mark's Street. The news hounds were at the other end of Scarborough Street, yelling questions, cameras and microphones trained.

Alex and Ray stood in front of the Quattro, parked under Luigi's red awning, shooing people away from the building, ignoring the shouts from the press, waiting for Gene. Luigi himself emerged on to the street, unshaven, in slippers and dressing gown. Shaz saw him first and ran over to him. 'Luigi, it's not safe out here. Go back inside.'

'Ah, Signorina Shazza. They are scaring my wife. They scare me too. Ringing the bell on and on till I open the door. They invade like Nazis and want breakfast and want my telephone and…'

Shaz tried to shepherd him back downstairs, but he saw Alex and called to her.

Across the street, Gene was at the top of the station steps with the Chief Super and Viv. He looked for Alex, spotted her standing with Luigi behind his car. Frowned. His car? Why had the garage brought it back so early? Something odd. The wheels. _Hubcabs. Ordinary hubcaps, not alloy wheels._ He ran down the steps, shoving through the crowd, bellowing at Alex. 'Get away from the car! _Alex!_ That's not my car! Get away from it. Ray! Shaz! _That's not my car! Alex…!_'

xxxxxxxxxxxx

_TBC – but I must take a break from _Storm_ for a little while (not as long as the last hiatus, I promise – still want it finished before series 2 starts). It's been almost full-time throughout January: 41,500 words since the new year. Chunks of the remaining chapters are written, everything is pretty much planned out, but I have yer ackshull WORK to be done and a big deadline looming. Be back soon. Thanks again for all your lovely reviews – makes it all worth the effort._


	31. Approaching thunder

Thanks, as ever, go to Wombledon, for brilliant expertise quite apart from sterling support. And thanks to all loyal readers for sticking with this through the long breaks.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Across the street, Gene was at the top of the station steps with the Chief Super and Viv. He looked for Alex, spotted her standing with Luigi behind his car. Frowned. His car? Why had the garage brought it back so early? Something odd. The wheels. Hubcaps. Ordinary hubcaps, not alloy wheels. He ran down the steps, shoving through the crowd, bellowing at Alex. 'Get away from the car! Alex! That's not my car! Get away from it. Ray! Shaz! That's not my car! Alex…!'_

Alex heard Gene. Realised what he was yelling as he ran towards her. Saw Ray, staring at the car number plate. She ran at him, shoved him off balance, made him move. 'Ray!' she screamed at him. 'Get people back into the station. Right to the back of the building, away from the street. Go!' She pushed him hard, and he came to, his copper's instincts kicking in. He ran back to the steps, yelling at Viv and Dorney, and the three of them turned to stop anyone else leaving the building.

Alex, expecting every moment to feel the bomb blast hit her, had scrambled round the car to the restaurant steps, yelling at Shaz who was already halfway down in Luigi's wake. 'Shaz! Get everyone to the back of the building. Don't come near the front until you hear from me or the Guv, do you understand?'

The girl looked up at her and nodded calmly. 'Yes, Ma'am,' she called, and disappeared through the restaurant door, slamming it behind her.

'Run, Bolls.' Gene reached Alex, grabbed her by the arm and pulled her with him back across the street and into the station. They followed the sound of voices, and ran through the building to find Dorney and the others. Viv and another sergeant were on the phones, Inspector Minnion was snapping orders into a radio, and the Chief Super was giving a string of instructions to his secretary.

'Sir.' Gene was out of breath, feeling the legacy of every cigarette.

Dorney nodded to his secretary and turned to his CID officers. 'Bomb Squad on its way, Hunt. Ten minutes or less. Your car?'

'No, sir. Almost identical, but not mine.'

The crisis eased down into a short siege. The rogue Quattro sat mute in the empty street, watched by the media and the evicted Fenchurch East personnel. The bomb squad arrived, defused a device and removed the car with the minimum of fuss; it was all over. Police and support staff filtered back into the building, Luigi evicted his media squatters, Dorney spoke to the swarming microphones, managing to say nothing of any help to the waiting news editors, and Fenchurch East returned to business. Gene sent Lucas off to collect his wife who'd choked on a lungful of yellow smoke from the bomb at the Wellington Arch, but was otherwise unhurt. The only signs of the morning's excitement were the buzz of nervous chatter and a small sea of scattered papers, knocked off a desk in the exodus.

But before Gene had planted his arse on a flat surface, DCI Clark had phoned with good and bad news. 'Hunt? Hope you haven't got a busy day scheduled.'

'Don't tell me I'll have to cancel my origami class at lunchtime. What do you want, Clark?'

'We've got the rest of Carteret's people, and they need interviewing.'

'What rest?'

'Mechanics, drivers, quartermasters, and assorted detritus from the funeral parlour and the garage on Cambridge Heath Road.'

'_Funeral parlour?_'

'Black cars, Hunt. Discretion. Embarrassment factor. Respectability. And within sight of the Priory. Signalling distance. Get it?'

'Gosh, you'd better explain it to me again.'

'The funeral…'

Gene snarled, incapable of keeping his cool. 'Fuck off, Clark. Why should I take your leftovers?'

'We've got our hands full with the bunch from the Priory, and this can't wait.'

'Oh, you think we're lying about reciting poetry over here? Carteret tried to blow my arse a couple of miles away from my elbow just now, in case you hadn't heard.'

'Dear, dear, he _is_ yanking your chain, isn't he? Take your mind off it and focus on getting some answers. We're splitting the interviews between Fenchurch East and Paddington Green. You're getting the smaller fry…'

'Oh, you think we can't handle the…'

'Keep your peroxide hair on, Hunt. They'll be scared and they'll talk fast, especially with Carteret's hard men out of the way, so you'll get quick results.'

'How many?'

'Five. Two drivers and three mechanics. I'll send over the facts we already know, and a list of evidence found at the premises: TNT and T4 with enough wiring and hardware for several large IEDs, plus mortars, chemical canisters, guns and ammunition. It was all in the process of preparation, so it looks like we've saved London from an Easter massacre.'

'We?'

'The team, Hunt. For fuck's sake, grow up.'

'Sounds like you've forgotten that one of _your_ defectives was in this up to his…'

'_Your_ DI was fucking him, and _you_ were fucking Carteret's wife. I haven't forgotten that either, you schmuck.'

Slamming down the phone, Gene kicked a filing cabinet with enough force to topple a darts trophy and a pile of Police Gazettes off the top. He crashed out of his office, jerking his head at Alex to follow him. Without a word, he drove them round two corners out of sight of the station, and stopped the car; he dropped his head on to his hands, gripping the steering wheel like a lifebelt. Alex put a comforting hand on his back, but kept quiet, letting him calm down. Eventually Gene slumped back in his seat, reaching for his cigarettes, dragging the smoke into his lungs as though it was mountain air.

'I'm losing my grip, Bolls.'

'You let him get to you, that's all. Not the easiest of days.' She took his hand in both of hers and squeezed gently.

'I put everyone in danger.'

'Don't be ridiculous.'

'He was after me. Could have killed you. Ray, Luigi, any of them…'

'Gene, look at me.' She tugged his hand, and he turned his head towards her. 'You and I are right in the deep end of this thing, and Carteret is piling the pressure on the two of us. Finding ways to destroy us.' She turned away for a second. 'Jaspan died because of me…'

'No, Bolls…'

'Yes, Gene, he did. He stopped Haggerty and gave me time to get out. I've got to live with that, but I didn't kill him. You didn't plant the bomb this morning. No-one was hurt. And you _will_ catch them. You _will_ stop them.'

Gene looked at her blazing with passion in his defence, the source of new strength, his touchstone. 'Not on my own, I won't. Need the team. Your buddy Cruickshank. Even need Clark, the smug bastard. And you. More than anyone, you, Alex.'

She smiled at him, her eyes bright. 'Come on, then. Let's go and find Womble.'

'In a minute. Need my medicine first…' His kiss was tender, grateful, loving; but Alex was hungry for him, aware how thin the line between living and dying had been that morning. They were brought up short by a patrol car squeezing past the Quattro in the narrow street, a cheeky plod tooting at them, grinning.

'Bastard. That'll be round the station before Viv can say howzat.'

'He's gone now.' Alex put a possessive hand on his thigh.

'You cheer me up no end, Bolls.' He traced one finger over her breast, his lips whispering across hers. 'You and your tarty ways. I'm really getting to like 'em.'

She groaned. 'Shut up and kiss me, stupid.'

He dropped a kiss on her greedy mouth and pulled back from her. 'You're kissed. Now put me down, Delilah. We have work to do.'

'God, you're all the same. Bloody men. That's all you ever think about.' She pouted, making him laugh.

He leant across and whispered in her ear. 'Thanks, love.'

She smiled, and put her fingers to his lips. 'No thanks needed.' Her smile took on a sultry look. 'You can pay me in kind, later.'

'Oh yes.' He put the car in gear and they shot off towards Tower Bridge.

As they nosed through the traffic at Elephant & Castle, Gene remembered Clark's call. 'Shit.' He snatched up the radio and got hold of Ray. 'Right. DCI Clark is sending over a vanful of scum for us to play with. Get them processed, read the stuff that Clark's sending, then lay straight into them. You, Chris, Duffy and Granger.

'_Granger_, Guv?'

'DC Granger needs the experience. You can work in two tag teams. A few minutes each. Let them sweat, and let them think the others are twittering like yellow tits. Oh, and let them know that if they don't talk to you, I'll be back in due course, and I'll be in no mood for niceties.'

xxxxxxxxxxx

They had to park in Petty France, Broadway barred with white tape after the morning's explosion. Womble met them outside New Scotland Yard, where the black Jag was slewed across the pavement, rear end in the road, nose crushed against the concrete plinth of the still-revolving Yard sign. The car's windows were blown out, and the interior charred and torn apart.

'Why is it still here? Have forensics gone over it?' Gene had his head through the driver's window, peering at the damage.

'Bomb squad want it first. They're on the way now – got the other three first.'

'Is it a police car?'

'No. False plates – same number as Cruickshank's, like all of them. Carteret's little joke.' Womble didn't sound amused. 'He's had the chassis numbers filed off, but if they follow the pattern, they'll have been acquired some time ago.'

'What exactly happened?' Alex was at the passenger door.

'All four were black Jags, all driven by men in police uniform, parked and left locked. Five seconds before each exploded, the car horn started blaring to warn people away, which mostly worked. The explosive charge in each car was a large pyrotechnic maroon which resulted in noise and damage to the car, but little else. There was also a smoke bomb in each car – chlorine gas, but in relatively small quantities: coughing and choking, but no lasting physical damage.'

'So no casualties.' Alex was relieved.

'Cuts and bruises, mostly. One serious injury. A female police officer at Bow Street was knocked off her feet by the blast, and she fell awkwardly on stone steps. Spinal injury – not good. Alex, I'm afraid it's someone you know. Deirdre Geary.'

'Carol's friend?'

Womble nodded grimly. 'Mmm, 'fraid so.'

Alex closed her eyes, sighing heavily. '_Christ_.'

'Casualties weren't the objective; they've got what they wanted, which was massive media coverage, and rising panic. The media were alerted in plenty of time – publicity is the key to this campaign.'

Gene stood up, his eyes still on the car. So much damage from so small an explosion. 'What about the Quattro?'

'Ah, that's a different story, Gene.' Womble gestured to them both to walk with him. 'Let's go and get a drink.' They went down Broadway, the curved, narrow street belying its name. As they turned left to Petty France, Womble jerked his head upwards at the street sign on the building ahead. 'Noticed that street name before?' A short narrow street leading to nowhere much, it was unremarkable but for one thing. Gene looked up and did a double take. '_Jesus_…'

Alex followed suit and stopped dead. '_Carteret_ Street?'

Gene grabbed her arm and towed her away. 'How do you get street names changed round here?'

Once they'd got themselves outside a large whisky in the almost empty pub, and Gene had a fag in his hand, Womble prompted him to brief him about the Quattro bomb. Once Gene had told him, Womble shook his head. 'You were bloody lucky. I talked to the bomb squad just before you arrived, and there was over four pounds of PE4 in that car. It was timed to go off at nine, but the connection between timer and detonator was loose. Another quarter turn of the screw…'

'Don't...' Alex felt Gene take her hand beneath the table and squeeze tight.

'The point is, Alex, I don't know if it was a mistake. The bastard's playing games with us, and he may have deliberately left the screw loose…'

'He's got more than one screw loose, the mad shit.'

'This is a personal vendetta, Gene. Carteret hates you, and he's going off the script. The Quattro wasn't in the plan for today. The other cars were all black Jags, all designed to create fear, not injuries, and only those four were announced. The Quattro was just for you, and anyone else who got too close. Probably done at the last minute, which actually suggests the failure to detonate _was_ a mistake.'

Alex cut in. 'If he's prepared to do that on a whim to feed an obsession, he's worse than dangerous. He's completely unpredictable, and he'll try again.'

'Fine. Let him. If he's starting to make mistakes, he'll slip up and we'll get him.'

'Gene, he's got nothing to lose now. The whole operation's blown and all he's got left is you.'

'I'll make it easy for him, then.'

xxxxxxxxxxx

Fenchurch East was buzzing when they got back; Carteret's men had been pressed hard, and two of them had grown feathers and started singing, but they had little of any real use to say. Evidence to add to the tally, but nothing watertight to incriminate Carteret or Grenville. Gene and Alex weighed in, and by the end of the day they'd got more than enough to charge all five suspects and to nail the lid down on the two Carterets. Gene went upstairs to report quickly to the Chief Super, and Alex rang DCI Clark.

'Good, it all tallies.' Clark heard Alex's news with satisfaction. 'Marks and Sparks in Oxford Street, The Daily Mirror, Chelsea FC, Raymond's Revue Bar, and Rothschild's Bank.'

'Consumerism, gossip, sport, sex and capitalism. A fundamentalist's idea of decadence, _and_ they all work under the false flag basis as cornerstones of the British way of life. Extra bonus, some of them with Jewish connections. All scheduled for Good Friday. All but the Mirror closed for the bank holiday. Dead journalists – guaranteed to make headlines the world over, and if they'd succeeded in forcing the blame on Asian militants…'

'God knows, Alex. But it'll blow back at them now. The media'll have a field day.'

'The Carterets are still loose. And the only thing we know is that Jack Carteret wants Gene Hunt dead.'

'He's not the only one,' Clark muttered.

The temperature dropped sharply in the short silence. 'Does that comment suggest we can't rely on your full support, DCI Clark?' Alex's voice was permafrost.

'Oh, give me a break, Alex. The man's an arsehole, and we'd…'

Alex was on her feet with the adrenalin surge. 'I suggest you stop there, _sir_, as you have no _bloody_ idea what you're talking about.' She slammed down the phone and flung a coffee-stained mug at the wall. _Bastard_.

Among the chorus of startled CID voices, Shaz sounded a note of concern. 'Ma'am? What's happened?'

_Calm down. It's not their fault._ 'Nothing, Shaz. A waste of air.' She went into Gene's office, shut the door and helped herself to his phone, ringing Cruickshank's private number. The answerphone clicked in after two rings. _Damn_. 'Alex Drake, sir. Need to talk urgently.' She hung up, and prayed he'd pick up the message in the next hour. If Clark was going to be less than enthusiastic in his support of the night's plans, she wanted him nowhere near Gene.

Cruickshank rang back within five minutes, and Alex told him Gene's plan to put himself in the Theberton Street house as bait, and about Clark. 'Okay, Alex. I'll find you a team from outside Clark's group. Carteret would have to be one stop short of Upney to fall for it, but it's worth a try.'

'One stop short of Upney?' Alex was bemused.

'On the District Line.'

She was no wiser.

'Barking, Alex.'

It felt good to laugh. She liked him a lot. If she'd met him in 2005, before she'd even heard of Sam Tyler…

'We're pulling in one or two of Grenville's circle for questioning tonight in any case, and we're knocking on doors of the others, which should rattle them enough to discourage them from offering Carteret a bed for the night.' Cruickshank gave Alex contacts and codes for the back-up team, and agreed the brief. There was a tiny silence before he continued. 'Remember, Alex, you're the thing Gene values more than his own life. Carteret knows it. Which puts you in the same danger as Gene, if not more. Promise me you won't put yourself at risk.' No response. 'Alex.'

'I promise you I'll be in a safe place, sir.' _Right next to Gene_.

He sighed. 'Well, I tried.'

_Bless the man, he hasn't given me a direct order. _'Thank you, Brian.'

The steel returned to his voice, and he sounded formal, as though someone else were in the room. 'Don't let me down. I want you and your DCI in my office at nine tomorrow morning, without fail. Understand?'

'Yes, sir.'

It was a pretty thin idea, going to Savitri Dev and letting slip that they'd be searching Miranda's house in Theberton Street that night. Little more than an invitation to play another round of the game. A day or two earlier it might well have worked; Carteret was mad as a mongoose, but he wasn't stupid, and he had plans of his own. So Alex and Gene spent the night in the beautiful house among the Carterets' beautiful things, avoiding the bedroom where Gene's blood was a dark stain on the floor by the bed. If the owners had been back recently, it hadn't been with carpet shampoo in hand.

With one of Cruickshank's team posted outside and the other two lurking in the house, it was a long night. They snatched a few hours' sleep on the sofa; at least Alex did. Gene was assaulted with memories everywhere in the house, and they weren't the stuff of sweet dreams. But he was asleep at daybreak when the phone rang. Alex reached for it, instantly awake.

'That must be the lovely Alice. How delightful.' Carteret's silky voice. Alex shoved Gene awake, gesturing at the phone, mouthing the name. Gene pressed his head to Alex's so they could both listen.

'Sweet of you to wait up. Sorry we couldn't make it. But we've a farewell party of our own to organise this morning. I do hope you can both come.' His voice was sweetness itself. Alex thought she was going to heave. 'There'll be a big cake, and games, and maybe even donkey rides, and I'm sure you'll know at least one of the guests. Eleven sharp. Wear something pretty. Miranda and I can't wait to see you. And give that charmer beside you a big kiss from us.'

'Where, you shit?' Alex yelled down the phone, but he'd hung up.

Gene fished out pen and notebook. Between them they got the exact words down, and rang Cruickshank who was already in his car on his way in to the Yard.

'Right. Come to my office as soon as. Ring the Yard, speak to DC Mike Chadwick and give him Carteret's message. He'll get it round to everyone. I'll ring Clark now. You alert Dorney, will you? Carteret will almost certainly alert the media before long, and after yesterday, they'll want the Commissioner and probably the Home Secretary.'

Alex could hear Cruickshank swearing softly. 'Sir?'

'Sorry, Alex. Just remembered what else the Commissioner's supposed to be doing this morning. Can't be helped. Let's get moving.'

In the car, as Gene nipped through early morning traffic slowed by rain and spray, Alex was on the radio, alerting Dorney, trying to raise Clark, and speaking to DC Chadwick. Waiting for Clark to get back to her, Alex was puzzling over Carteret's clues, muttering to herself. 'Donkey rides… beach… somewhere on the Strand? The Savoy, maybe? 'A policeman's lot is not a happy one.' And he said 'we've a farewell party to organise' so he's still got preparations to make. This is not planned. But we don't know if he's got explosive. Unless that's what he means by a big cake. Games… like Olympic Games? Children's games? Kid's games, Gene?'

'I haven't played games since the 1940s, for god's sake. Tag. Hopscotch. Blind man's buff. Pass the parcel. Hide and seek. Grandmother's footsteps.'

'Blimey – keep going.'

'Christ, I don't know. Musical chairs…. Dunno.'

'Eleven sharp. What happens at eleven? Elevenses. Why a farewell party? Who's saying goodbye? Is he planning to get out? Or saying goodbye to us. Me. You. Planning to kill us this time. Who's the guest we'll know? Can't be Grenville. Savitri Dev? Oh, god. Is he planning to abduct someone? Alex Price…. Gene…'

He found her hand. 'Why would he know about her? That's Layton. No connection, love.'

Her mind was racing, and she was silent for a while, thinking frantically. They shot past Blackfriars Bridge and down on to the Embankment in the now streaming rain; Gene put a hand on Alex's thigh to get her attention. 'Get hold of Carol Watkins. She can roust Carling out of his pit and get Lucas back in. He'll want to see this through. Find out how his wife is. Put them all on alert.'

The radio squawked as she reached for it – Clark's voice filled the car. Alex updated him and he signed off. No mention of their last conversation, no mention of Gene. _Gossip's probably reached him by now. Saves me having to apologise to the git._

She picked up the radio again and called in to Fenchurch East, got through to Carol on the desk. 'Carol – I'm so sorry to hear about Deirdre. Is there any news?'

'I'm going to see her in a bit. Last night her husband said she was conscious and lucid, everything fine. Except that she can't move her legs. No feeling below her waist.'

'It's early days. Very hard to know how the body will respond.'

'When you catch that bastard, give me three minutes in the cell with him.'

'I'll join you. For Jaspan, and Nicole.'

'If only, eh? What can I do for you, Alex?'

She relayed Gene's instructions, and signed off as Gene was turning into Broadway. Waved through the barrier into the underground car park, they found their allocated space and made their way up to Cruickshank's office to find Womble there, but no chief superintendent.

'He's with the Commissioner. Won't be long, he said.' Womble looked exhausted; out with the Bomb Squad for much of the night, checking the Easter bombing targets to be sure nothing had been planted early, after hours of interviewing Carteret's people at Paddington Green.

'You look as if you need restuffing, Orinoco. Bacon sarnie and a few hours's kip in the arms of a good woman would do it. If you can find a bad woman, so much the better.' Gene flicked a glance at Alex, who didn't bother to hide her smile.

Womble's face cracked. 'Funny, that. Exactly what I have planned. Carol's meeting me for breakfast, then we're going over to see Deirdre.' He jerked his head in the direction of St Thomas's Hospital across the river. 'Then it's home to bed, and maybe when I wake up it'll all be over. Carteret will have blown himself and Cruella de Ville to smithereens, Grenville will have been eaten by Herne's Hounds and I can take Carol for a relaxing holiday on the Falls Road.'

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

The media started phoning at ten to eight, by which time Cruickshank was on his way to the Home Office with the Commissioner to brief the minister.

Womble was getting twitchy – Carol had been due to meet him at seven-thirty – and he phoned Fenchurch East to see if she'd left on time.

Viv was on the desk. 'She left sharp at seven, DI Wimbledon. She said you were both going to see Sergeant Geary.'

'She's not here yet, Viv. It's only eight stops on the District Line to St James Park – should have taken her no more than twenty minutes. Thirty, at most. Where the hell is she?'

'I'll ask around, sir.'

Womble looked up to see Gene and Alex watching him.

'It's too early to panic. Could be anything.' Gene sounded calm, but his guts were roiling. _Don't wait for bad news_. He phoned through to Ray.

His DS sounded relieved to hear his voice. 'Where are you, Guv? The press are driving us mad, asking for you and DI Drake.'

'I'm still at the Yard, Ray. I don't give a rat's knacker about the press. Now shut up and listen. Carol Watkins hasn't turned up to meet DI Wimbledon. She left Fenchurch East at seven sharp, according to Viv. She'd have walked to Tower Hill tube. I want you to find her, Ray. Talk to everyone who arrived between seven and seven thirty. Anyone with a view from the window of the route she'd have taken. Who saw Carol, who saw anything. A Jaguar car, black or any colour. A tall thin man, and a woman, five foot three, more in heels. Dark clothing or uniform. Priest. Maybe police – anyone they don't recognise. Ring C relief as they get home and ask them the same. Get Duffy and Poirot out on the street: news vendors, cafes, taxi rank, tobacconist, tube station. I want everyone on this, Ray. Carteret threatened someone DI Drake knows; it could be Carol. If she turns up here in the meantime, I'll get her to ring and apologise for wasting your time. Now shift.'

'On it, Guv.'

'Is DC Granger in?'

'Just, Guv. I'll put you over to her.'

'Shaz – Sgt Watkins has gone missing. Phone London Transport, find out if there's been any incident or delay on or affecting the westbound District Line, or anything at Tower Hill or St James Park. Ring me at the Yard, on extension 727.' He hung up.

'What about here?'

'Carteret wouldn't know where she was headed, Alex. If he's snatched her, he'll have got her at that end, not this.'

It took just over ten minutes for Ray to ring back. 'Guv? WPC Branthwaite saw Carol walking down the street with two uniforms. Man and a woman. She didn't know the coppers, but she recognised Carol's yellow waterproof. Carol was arm in arm with the woman.'

'Did she see where they went?'

'No – saw them walking down North Tenter Street, is all.'

'What time?'

'Just after seven. Minute past, maybe.'

'Get the word out. Tell the Chief Super. Keep asking. Need their car.' He dropped the phone on its cradle and turned to face Womble. Grim-faced, he nodded, confirming their fears. 'They've got Carol. They took her outside the station. Police uniform. No sighting yet of the car.'

'Over an hour ago – they could be anywhere.'

'She'll be alive, Womble. She's no use to them otherwise. She'll be with them at eleven o'clock, wherever they're heading. We'll get her back safe.' Alex hugged him briefly.

But Womble could see nothing but bleakness. 'Carteret said 'farewell party'. He has nothing to lose. Someone's going to die.'

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

TBC


	32. Lightning strike

_Wombledon is a star, not just in beta terms but in her particular expertise where I have next to none. This story is infinitely better for her input._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Gene grabbed the phone and hit zero. 'Yes, love. Home Office.' He told the civil serving voice to get a message to Cruickshank with extreme urgency, yes, very relevant to the Home Secretary's meeting with the Met Commissioner.

Two minutes later, Cruickshank was on the phone, and got the news about Carol. 'I'll be with you in fifteen. Find Superintendent Bell and ask him to come to my office, and see how Mike Chadwick got on with the cryptics.'

Cruickshank arrived back in twelve minutes, with the Metropolitan Police Commissioner in tow; by nine o'clock the plods and pandas of Westminster were out searching for Carol, the Commissioner was better informed, and Gene felt boned and filleted by the top dog's questions. DC Chadwick had garnered a long list of suggested solutions to Carteret's clues, but nothing coherent or convincing. Womble was looking grey, unable to stay still, wanting to do something – anything – to get Carol back safe. He'd asked for the police helicopter to be sent up, but as they had no lead on the car, the AC had refused.

Cruickshank put the three detectives in a meeting room next to his office, and got on with his own workload while they waited. The sounds of a busy office began to get louder as the time stretched and their conversation slowed. Doors creaked open, filing cabinets slammed shut; phones and feet and voices came and went and Alex watched the Ulsterman twitch. She knew the difference between fear for one's own life and fear for someone else; the atavistic terror at the threat of harm to someone loved. _Molly_. Her child, Layton's gun to her head. Her parents… Gene… running into danger, facing down a gun, running to save her. A cataclysmic wave of fear loomed over her in an instant, crashing over her defences with the realisation of what they might all face before this dragging horror ended. Shaking, she got to her feet and went to fetch tea from the machine. Useless gesture, but she had to do something to pull herself together.

As she was carrying back three thin cups of brown liquid hot enough to burn her hands through the plastic, she saw Cruickshank dart from his office and put his head round the door of the meeting room. Whatever he said catapulted Womble and Gene through the door.

'Bolls, come on.' She dumped the tea on the nearest flat surface and ran after him; Womble was stabbing the _down_ button as they reached the lifts. Gene updated her as they dropped twelve floors to basement level. 'Press have been sent to the Palace of Westminster to wait for more instructions. We'll wait in the car – it's half past ten now. Cruickshank's going to wait for the final location.'

'I'll meet you in the street.' Womble ran back up the stairs as Gene and Alex headed for the car and drove back out to Broadway. Alex got out, standing with the car door open, ready to run, or get back in, or whatever came next. She could feel the Audi engine thrumming quietly, all that _technik_ ready to _vorsprung_ at Gene's touch.

Womble ran out of the building and down the steps to the car; he put a hand on the car roof and bent down to talk to Gene. 'Cruickshank's got a patch straight through to your car radio, Guv. Soon as he hears, you hear.'

'Could be fifteen, twenty minutes' wait yet. Yesterday he only gave the hacks five minutes' warning of the real locations.' Alex squatted on her heels to talk to Gene.

He nodded, and turned off the car engine.

Womble swore fluently, unable to contain his feelings. 'Can't just _stand_ here doing fuck all…'

Alex put a hand on his arm. 'Carteret is orchestrating this. He wants us there on time, and he'll have Carol alive. He can't control everything. We'll find his weak point, Womble. He's starting to make mistakes…'

Gene cut across her. 'Roger, I swear to you, that fucking piece of scum will harm Carol Watkins over my dead body.' His voice was cold as slate, hard, flat. Alex shuddered, knowing he meant it literally. No point in asking him to be careful, no point in reminding him that she loved him. Suddenly she understood what Carteret was planning. _Carol and me._ _He's going to make Gene choose_. Then if bastard's really cruel, he'll let him live.

She stood up shakily and leaned against the car, not wanting to let Gene see her tears. _Stop it. Think. You're no use like this. Think_…

They waited, sat out the long minutes, sunk in their own thoughts. The day stretched past them. People went by – young men in sharp suits heading somewhere in a hurry; sightseers with cameras and no agenda; plods going about the day's duty – untouched by the darkness that surrounded the red car.

At thirteen minutes to eleven, the radio squawked. Cruickshank's voice. 'Gene – it's the Palace. Buck House. Gene…?'

Alex jumped into the car as Gene was turning the ignition key and putting the car in gear. She grabbed the radio. 'Alex. Got it, sir. Buck House.'

A blur of grey and black as Womble took off on foot, flying down Broadway and left round the corner towards St James's Park and the Palace. Gene gunned the engine, then swore viciously as a police van turned into Broadway ahead of the Quattro. He flicked on the siren and knocked the headlights on full beam; Alex slammed the blue light on to the roof, and the van driver accelerated out of their way. As the Quattro skidded round to Petty France, the radio spat again. Not Cruickshank. Carteret. _Carteret_. 'Gene Hunt, my very favourite policeman. And the lovely Alice, I hope. Aren't these police cars marvellous? Such useful toys.'

Gene snatched the radio from Alex. 'I'm coming for you, shithead.'

'Oh, goody.' The voice, like a thin stream of crude oil, oozed from the radio. 'Don't you go off to the Palace just yet, my dears. I'm waiting for you in Whitehall. Thought we could have a little, ah, appetizer. In private.'

Gene stood on the brakes and reversed, tyres smoking, missing a Ford Escort van by inches. He accelerated back down towards Parliament Square as Carteret continued.

'Your old friend the sergeant would say hello but she's still on a bit of a trip. But fret not, my kindly wife is looking after her. See you at the Cenotaph. Don't dawdle.'

The Quattro shot round to Storey's Gate and turned towards Parliament Square just as a patrol car slewed to a halt to block the way into the park; Alex turned to see a TV van brake and reverse. 'Cruickshank's blocking roads.' Ahead of them were more TV vans and radio cars manoeuvering round the square, trying to find the quickest route to the Palace, some heading up Victoria Street, most making their way up Whitehall. Young hacks on foot were legging it into St James's Park, desperate not to miss a moment of the unfolding story.

'Get out of my _fucking_ way, dickheads…' Gene snarled, as siren blaring and headlights flashing, the car whipped left into Whitehall and screamed the short distance to the Cenotaph, where a Jaguar XJ6 in Met livery – white with red and orange stripes down the sides, coat of arms on the door – was parked at the north end of the war memorial. 'That's them. Two blonde heads in the back.' Gene stood on the brakes, coming to a halt alongside the Jag. He and Alex had doors open and were half way out of the car, guns drawn, when the Jag's siren wailed and it took off, blue lights flashing, flying up towards Trafalgar Square, swerving round a red bus and cutting up a BBC radio car. 'Bastards…' Alex was barely in her seat when Gene accelerated after them, calling curses down on Carteret's head.

'_Jesus effing Christ…' _

'_Where the bloody hell's he going?_

They yelled in disbelief as the police Jag did a handbrake turn and shot left into Horseguards, under the arch before the two mounted guardsmen could react, tourists scattering, eyes and mouths wide with shock. Gene, three seconds behind Carteret, gritted his teeth and followed, the Quattro's tyres leaving rubber on the pristine road. The cavalry officers, iconic figures in scarlet, black and gleaming steel, their massive horses trained to stillness, were shocked into turning their heads as the German car flashed past them, siren blaring.

Gene, his face contorted in rage, focused on Carteret's tail and ignored the shouts and furious waving of Household Cavalry officers as the Quattro flew after the Jaguar over Horseguards Parade, spattering gravel against horses' legs. As he followed Carteret on to the road, turning towards the Mall, he caught sight of the Guards Memorial and the memory flashed through his mind of Cruickshank, still a stranger just two weeks ago, eating bacon butties with him as they sat there and watched the Changing of the Guard. Planning the capture of the Carterets. They'd been outwitted and outflanked at every turn, kept dangling, able only to react, until he and Alex found the Priory – the only piece of proactive police work achieved from start to finish that cut across the bastards' plans.

'They've shut Admiralty Arch. Constitution Hill will be the same. Oh, god, Gene – the tourists…' As they raced down the red tarmac sweep of the Mall, they passed people walking towards the Palace, eager to watch British tradition in full fig. Alex's subconscious registered clumps of daffodils and cherry blossom, pelicans dwarfing the swans at the water's edge, women pushing prams, lovers drifting hand in hand, oblivious to the lethal race happening yards away from them. Then out of the corner of her eye she saw a tall figure sprinting across the lake bridge, running up through the trees, white shirt flashing through the leaves. Cruickshank, taking the fastest route to find them. All this in a split second, as the Quattro flew in slow motion towards Buckingham Palace.

Still two seconds behind the 4.1 litre Jaguar, Gene could see Carteret screech to a halt in front of the Victoria Memorial, then had to stamp on his own brakes as an ITN van shot out of Marlborough Road straight in front of him.

'Christ!' Alex yelped, hands out to steady herself.

The Quattro swerved and rocked as Gene fought for control, hissing with the effort of keeping the car upright. Ahead of them Alex could see the Carterets dragging a figure between them up the steps of the memorial. Carol, stumbling, unsteady on her feet.

'Cake… the wedding cake…' Alex muttered, remembering too late the local nickname for the old queen's tiered white monument.

People on the top step, maybe a dozen of them, gawping at the figures coming towards them. Carteret and Miranda in shining white habits; heads bare, his cropped black head and her blonde bob. Carteret screaming at the tourists, waving violently with his left arm, but they were frozen, uncomprehending, not knowing what to do. They knew a split second later, though. Miranda lifted a gun in both hands and fired. Alex registered the puff of pulverised marble as the bullet hit Queen Victoria's skirts. The tourists shrieked and scattered, hands over their heads as they ran round the base of the statue, out of harm's way.

Alex had her door open as the Quattro slewed to a stop beside the Jaguar and was out on her feet before the engine died. Gene was alongside her in an instant, gun in one hand, his other on Alex's arm. 'Wait. Let's see what we've got.'

What they had was Carteret standing with his back to the marble base, one arm round Carol's neck and the other hand holding a short sword to her throat, the razor sharp steel glinting as he pulled his hostage tight against him. Miranda stood with her left shoulder turned into her husband's chest, the gun pointing at Gene. Carteret was protected by the two women, Carol too tall to risk taking a shot at his head for fear of hitting her.

To Alex's left, a police sergeant was issuing sharp instructions over his radio, and uniforms were appearing at a run from every direction, as were reporters and cameramen, pushing through to get the best vantage points. On the edge of her vision she could see uniforms trying to get the crowd away into the parks or through Buckingham Gate, but the hundreds outside the Palace forecourt weren't budging, unaware of the drama fifty yards behind them, focused on the guards in their grey coats and bearskins with the Grenadiers' band playing a rousing march.

_What's that music? I know that music_… The question wriggled like a worm in Alex's head, distracting her. _School.._. Suddenly Cruickshank was at her shoulder, out of breath; she felt Gene move away from her, walking across the few yards of red tarmac to the first marble step.

'Carol, love, you okay?' Gene called to her. He could see her frown as she tried to focus on him, but she didn't answer. _They've drugged her_.

Alex took a step, but was pulled back by Cruickshank's hand gripping her arm tight. 'Alex, no. Stay here. That's an order.'

She turned and looked up into his face. Smiled into his eyes. 'Can't, Brian. Sorry. Can't.'

He glowered at her. 'You bloody deserve each other.' He let her go and walked forward with her till he was at Gene's shoulder.

'Brian.'

'Gene. Put your gun away. You're not in Moss Side. There'll be police marksmen here in a matter of minutes. Look at them, in martyrs' robes. If you shoot them almost within sight of the monarch, live on TV, it'll hand the battle to the fascist bastards on a plate.'

'Don't give a flying fuck about any of that, sir. Want Carol Watkins safe. Want Carteret in Broadmoor or a coffin.'

'Yes, Gene, me too. Put the gun away. Now. Gene…'

Carteret called down to him. 'If you try to shoot me, Hunt, I can slit her throat before you've pulled the trigger, and my wife will shoot the lovely Alice.'

There was a rush of feet and Womble was there, chest heaving, eyes wild. 'Carol…' Before Gene or Cruickshank could grab him, he was up the first four steps, eyes on his girl. 'Carol, look at me.' He moved slowly across the six yards to the next set of steps.

'Oh, for the love of the suffering Christ…' Carteret intoned wearily. 'Fuck off, bogtrotter. You're in the way and we're busy.'

As if he didn't hear Carteret, Womble put a foot on the next step. Carteret snatched the gun from Miranda's hand, took aim and fired. Womble fell, shouting in pain and clutching at his thigh, blood spattering the white marble. Gene and Cruickshank leapt forward but Carteret fired again, the bullet slamming into the step in front of them. 'No, no. You stay right there. He'll be just fine where he is. He's bleeding green, anyway. Bog blood.'

Snarling, incensed, Gene reached for his revolver, but Cruickshank wrested it from his hand. 'Keep your powder dry, Gene.'

Carteret handed the Browning pistol back to his wife. Looking out at the cameras pointing at him over the shoulders of the line of uniformed police, Carteret smiled. 'Look, darling, see how interested the country is in us?' His voice rose to a theatrical pitch so the microphones could pick him up. 'Grateful that someone's standing up for the decent, god-fearing, right-thinking people of Britain who are so angry with the path this country has taken. Letting in any black losers who hail from the Commonwealth. Commonwealth? They're taking _our_ wealth. _Our_ jobs, _our_ welfare. And this nasty, greedy, godless, capitalist government obsessed with status and consumption, everyone for themselves. Government? Hah. A bunch of weak, spineless public schoolboys under the thumb of a grocer's daughter. All for one and one for me, she says. Well, me and my tinted chums from bits of a lost empire. They…'

'Oh, shut up, you whingeing, god-bothering, twisted, nazi, pencil-dick. You think this crap will make your penis any thicker or your balls any bigger?' Gene seemed to have lost patience. He shifted from foot to foot, moving almost imperceptively to the right with each movement, taking Carteret's attention away from the others. He spoke just loud enough to reach Carteret, his words inaudible to the audience behind him. 'You've lost. You have nothing left. We've got all your toys and your boys and what family you haven't murdered have disowned you. Your rich uncle has dumped you in the shit and run off to swig strawberry daquiris in the Caribbean with his nazi pals, and after all those years, and all that money, you've achieved _nothing_.'

Carteret was snarling at him, white-faced. 'What do you know, you thick-as-pigshit paki loving heathen? You know nothing. The British people want us and we will rule. You can't stop the will of the right-thinking British public. They will recognise that we offer the only solution to the sickness of this decadent hedonistic society that allows women and wogs to dictate the way we live…'

'Hitler could have taken lessons from you, wanker.'

'Obscene, profane, damned blasphemer…'

'Takes one to know one. You want to kill me, don't you, you sick bully? But if you kill me now you can't kill me again, and you dream about torturing me, don't you?' Gene's voice dropped lower, making Carteret strain to hear the words. 'Your wife fell in love with me and you didn't like that, did you? Then you found you weren't jealous of me, but jealous of _her_. You whack off as you fantasise about being punished by me, don't you, Jack, _sweetie_? Praying to your twisted idea of a god that one day I'll fuck you senseless while your red-haired altar boy sucks you off…'

As Gene taunted the man to madness, Cruickshank crept forward and knelt down by Womble, who was grey, sweat beading on his face, blood soaking into the marble beneath him. 'I'm grand, sir, really. Hasn't hit an artery or a bone. Toes wiggle. I'll keep. Go back.'

Cruickshank nodded, and stood up slowly, stepping back as he straightened, a smear of blood on his white shirt.

Alex, who'd moved gradually to the left of the steps, was focused on Miranda. She'd remembered the music. _War March of the Priests_. Played every year on Foundation Day at her school. Catholic school. Like Miranda.

'_Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee_.' Alex intoned the prayer as though to herself, just loud enough for Miranda to hear. '_Blessed art thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus._'

Miranda watched her, hollow-eyed, the gun wavering in her hand. She'd lost weight since they'd last met at Luigi's two months ago. Fear, maybe, or doubt. '_Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen_.'

She put her foot on the next step; Miranda waved the gun at her, but Alex moved her bodyweight and stood a few inches closer. She could hear Carteret spitting venom at Gene, could hear Gene's voice but not his words; on the edge of her vision could see Cruickshank watching them all, turning to look at her every few seconds. She daren't look at him or Gene. Concentrate on Miranda. 'Let me take Carol's place, Miranda. It's me you should have. It's me who took Gene away from you, me he wants. Carol's no use to you.'

Miranda shook her head. 'Jack wants her. Says Gene would die for her. He's right. I know he's right.'

'He's always right, is he? Jack? What if he's wrong about something really important? God is looking down on us now, and is judging us. What will his judgement be? If you shoot me, or Carol, it's a mortal sin. Miranda, a mortal sin. Taking a life is a mortal sin. And you'll be shot by them,' she gestured behind her, hoping the police marksmen were there, and in sight, 'and you'll die without penance, out of the light of God, condemned to the inferno for eternity.'

Miranda's eyes were haunted, the ashen skin stretched over the bones of her face, her gun hand shaking so she had to hold the heavy pistol with both hands. 'I can't. I promised. Jack promised me.'

'You promised God to keep his commandments. Christ Jesus promised us eternal life if we repented and followed him. Can you believe as much in Jack's promise, Miranda? Save Carol and God will forgive you. As a good Christian, a good Catholic, save Carol, and you'll be in a state of grace. A brave, selfless, godly deed. For your soul's sake, Miranda. For your eternal soul.'

'Shut up! Shut up! You're a lying thieving bitch. Get back or I'll shoot him again.' She pointed the gun at Womble, lying below her.

Alex nodded, her hands out, placating. 'Okay, Miranda.' She stepped back slowly; then began her performance of praying again, eyes closed for the first few moments, then open and focused on Miranda, her lips moving.

The woman turned to her husband, spoke softly, urgently to him. Too softly to be heard by those on the lower steps, but Jack Carteret's response needed no words. His olive skin flushed dark with rage, he relaxed his grip on Carol, who swayed on her feet without the support of Carteret's body at her back. In a flicker of movement, Miranda grabbed her husband's arm, pulling it away from Carol enough to push the police woman clear and throw her pistol down the steps. Carol stumbled down the first four steps and half way across the twelve yard terrace before collapsing. Gene and Cruickshank raced up to catch her.

Alex looked up. Carteret had his mouth to Miranda's ear, hissing poison at her. She was crying, tears spilling down her face, mouth an ugly shape as she begged. '_Please_, Jack, beloved Jack. It's over. We can stop now. God will forgive us, _please_…'

He was behind her and put his arm across her chest. He looked down at the leeching cameras sucking up misery and fury and fear. 'Treason is a capital crime. You traitor. No wife of mine. Devil's whore…' He convulsed as he pushed the sword into Miranda's back, teeth bared with the effort. And again, forcing the blade right through her body. Then he let her go, stood clear, his arms held wide, fingers spread, blood smeared on his robe. 'Unarmed! Don't shoot. I'm unarmed.' A trio of uniforms pounded up the steps and forced Carteret to the ground.

Miranda swayed, and fell to her knees as the blood poured from entry and exit wounds, dyeing the white robe with her life. She looked at Gene, terror and agony in her eyes, a grotesque gargling sound as she tried to speak. She gasped for air, her body desperate for oxygen; the aorta severed by the sword, she was drowning in her own blood. She crumpled, falling forward, the impact pushing the sword back into her body, ripping more flesh, bright blood pouring over the thirsty white marble, streaming from her mouth and nose, flooding down the steps, a stain that could never be expunged.

Alex ran to her and knelt, put one hand on Miranda's head and wrapped the other around the thin wrist. 'God the father of mercies…' She struggled to remember the words of the Last Rites, the one thing she could do for the woman who'd saved Carol's life. '…may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son…' She felt no breath, no pulse. '…and of the Holy Ghost.' This time she found herself praying in earnest. Prayed the dying woman could still hear, thanked a God she'd ignored for so long for Carol's life, for Miranda's last, redeeming act. _God-fearing. That's what it means_.

Carteret was hauled to his feet, hands cuffed behind his back and face grazed by the marble. He walked down, arms in the vice of two coppers, but stopped when he reached Gene. 'I'll never forget you. Such sweet memories, such a flavour…' He ran his tongue over his lips in an obscene gesture, smiling like a beelzebub.

Stone-faced, unmoved, Gene spoke softly. 'If there is a god, there'll be a cold, empty, wakeful, solitary eternity waiting for you. No pain, no pleasure. Nothing. For ever. Time enough even for you to think about all your failures and work out where you went wrong, you stupid… weak… deluded… _coward_.'

Carteret flushed crimson, his face contorted with loathing, spitting obscenities at his enemy; Gene watched, implacable, as the constables wrestled him away, screaming hatred at the world, struggling in vain until he was stuffed into a van and taken away.

Gene trudged to the top of the steps and stood with Alex and Cruickshank, looking down at what was left of Miranda Carteret. The sword hilt sticking out of her back, she was crumpled, insubstantial, eyes staring; she no longer looked human. A special effects dummy from a horror film. Not real. He felt nothing for her. He knew he'd feel something, some time, but for now, he had energy only for essentials. For those he loved.

Carol and Womble were whisked to hospital; some sensible officer had looked for clues in the XJ6 to what had been used to sedate Carol. 'Ketamine, sir,' the plonk reported, showing Gene the phial resting at the bottom of an evidence bag. He nodded, and the young woman repeated her find to the ambulance driver.

When Miranda's body was removed, the media melted away, knowing they weren't going to get anything more from the key players that day, and there was still time to get it on the one o'clock news. They had one of the best stories for years. Promotion for staffers, fat fees for freelancers. A very good day.

Cruickshank, clothes splashed with blood, was shivering despite the spring sun; a burly plod held out a uniform jacket to him; he draped it over Alex's shoulders. She was covered in blood – hands, face and all down her front. But unhurt, both of them. Womble was wounded, Carol drugged and bruised. But okay. Safe. Alive.

_No thanks to me_. Gene looked around him, dazed with the suddenness of it, finding it hard to accept that it was over. _And I'm unscathed, unmarked, untouched. But so much of this was my fault_. He shook his head, incapable of dealing with it all, exhausted.

Alex was talking to Cruickshank, her hand on his arm, both of them looking tired and drawn. But easy with each other. Close. He felt something stabbing inside him.

'Take Alex home, Gene. Get some hot food and sleep.'

'You too, Brian.' Alex sounded insistent.

He smiled down at her. 'I've got to brief the Commissioner and I hope he'll do the Home Secretary. Then I'm going home for a bit. Feeling my age.'

Gene gave him a sharp look. 'You're younger than me, you bastard.'

Cruickshank laughed loud. 'Only on paper.'

'I owe you a drink, Brian. Well, most of a brewery. If you fancy it, we'll be in Luigi's this evening. Right opposite Fenchurch East. Won't expect you, but I'd be pleased if you could join us for a bit. We all would.'

Cruickshank clapped him on the shoulder and sank into the back of his own XJ6, allowing Moody to drive him the short distance back to the Yard, as Gene and Alex headed home across the city, rid at last of its plague of rats.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

They barely spoke on the way home, both overwhelmed by feelings so mixed up they couldn't tell them apart, flooded with relief and not knowing what to do with it being over.

The house felt odd. Normal. The cat seemed to have grown in the two days since they'd seen him. Thank god for Dr Penfold's stroppy adolescent daughter; Natalie had fallen hard for Dino and begged to be allowed to be Catminder General.

'If I have a quick bath now, I can make us something to eat while you have yours. Okay with you?'

Gene looked up from playing with the kitten. 'Course, love. Don't hurry. I'm not really hungry.'

Alex trudged upstairs and ran the bath, promising herself that she'd make Gene install a decent shower. She stripped off and dumped bloodstained jeans and top by the door to be thrown out. Lying full length in Gene's enormous bath, wallowing in the steaming lavender-scented water, she let the heat soak right into her, let her mind slip into neutral.

In the kitchen, Gene listened to Dino thrum in bliss as he stroked the black fur. He felt empty, scoured out; sooner or later something would rush in and fill the void. _Fill it with work._ Blaggers and prostitutes and fraudsters and thieving little scrotes. Ordinary, decent, honest scum. He got up and put the kettle on, made tea. _God, that's good. Shit_. Realised he hadn't even thought about making Alex a cup. Shook his head in disgust and put the kettle on again. Not used to having someone else in the house. _I'd dreamed about it for months and now she's here I neglect her._

Alex was asleep in the bath when he took the tea in to her. His heart lurched at the sight of her, dark hair otter-sleek against her head, beautiful body limp in the warm water. _Fill the empty space with this. She's everything I need. Alex._ He sucked up the sight of her, amazed at his luck. He bent over her, stroking her arm gently, kissing her forehead, not wanting to wake her too suddenly. 'Here, love. Cuppa.'

She opened her eyes to see his face almost close enough to kiss. 'Thanks. Need that.' She took a sip, then drank it thirstily. '_Really_ needed that…'

While Gene was in the bath, Alex looked for something she could turn into lunch. Not much time recently to play house. A chunk of dried up Red Leicester in the fridge, a couple of cans of baked beans; she chopped one into the other, and heated them gently, keeping them warm till he padded downstairs. 'Cheesy beans Chisenhale.'

'You'll put Keith Floyd out of a job.'

They scoffed the haute cuisine, both suddenly ravenous, and as suddenly felt almost too tired to get upstairs.

'Christ. I'd better ring Ray. Want to go for a drink tonight?'

She nodded. 'Can't not. They'll want to make a fuss of you.'

'Don't have to stay long.'

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

The worm had been writhing in his brain since they left the Mall. He couldn't stop himself. As Gene turned the Quattro on to Whitechapel Lane, he gripped the steering wheel and cleared his throat. 'Should I be jealous of Brian Cruickshank?'

After a second, Alex smiled to herself. She turned to him, still smiling. 'Maybe a little.'

Gene changed gear viciously and completely unnecessarily, and the car whined in protest before he changed down again. 'He's in love with you.'

'A bit of a crush, that's all.'

'What about you?' He tried to sound as though he didn't much care either way.

'Am I in love with Brian?' She saw a look on his face that made her feel guilty for teasing him. 'No, Gene. I like him very much, and he's a good friend to both of us. He likes you. You know he does.'

They rolled to a stop for a red light on Leman Street, and Alex twisted in her seat, reached a hand to his neck, pushed her fingers into his hair. 'I like him, but I love you. Gene…'

He looked at her, finally.

She spoke with emphasis. 'I love you. Didn't we say we'd get married next week?'

He took her hand and kissed it. 'Sorry, Bolls. Stupid, I know, but you seem… close. And he is a better prospect than me, for god's sake.'

'What – a younger, fitter, taller, senior, better paid, suave graduate with a gorgeous house in Myddleton Square?'

'All right. No need to rub it in.'

She laughed, and saw his face crack. 'Idiot man.'

They were cheered when they turned up at Luigi's, their team whistling and clapping, joined by a bunch of uniforms wanting to thank them for Carol. Even Dorney stuck his head in for five minutes. Luigi embraced Alex with tearful kisses, his English deserting him as he welcomed her back. Then he hit his forehead with the heel of his hand in a pantomime of forgetfulness. 'Oh, signorina, a card for you. A wellwisher leave it earlier…' He reached behind the bar for a small white envelope; as he handed it to her, Gene grabbed her, pulling her over to talk to Viv. She stuffed the card into her jeans pocket to read later, and let herself be fussed over by her colleagues.

Just after eight, Brian Cruickshank created a buzz when he arrived which turned to cheers as word of his identity got round. He put his hands up to silence them, however, and the noise died down. 'Ladies and gentlemen, I'm sure you have already shown your appreciation for the courage and cleverness of DCI Hunt and DI Drake…' Much hooting and whistling. 'But now I want a gold medal Fenchurch East welcome for…' He stoked the tension, listening for footsteps on the stairs. '… DI Roger Wimbledon and Sgt Carol Watkins.'

The last word was drowned in the full-throated racket that erupted as Carol and Womble came through the door. The mob descended on the new arrivals, allowing Cruickshank to edge through to Alex and Gene.

Several rounds later, Gene was at the bar, and Alex grabbed her opportunity. 'Brian, I've got some news.' She hesitated.

He raised his eyebrows. 'Do you want me to guess, or are you going to tell me?'

'About Gene and me. We're getting married next week. Easter Saturday.'

'Just as well you stopped the Good Friday campaign, then.'

'You're not surprised?'

'I'm a Detective Chief Superintendent. Supposed to be quite good at working things out. Didn't need much effort with you two, did I?'

She blushed, and chuckled. 'We only decided last Sunday. Didn't seem any point in waiting.' She saw that he understood her. 'Listen, Brian. I don't really have any family here… Would you…'

'Give you away?'

'I don't think you do that in a registry office, do you? But the equivalent. Stand for my family.'

'I'd be proud, Alex.' He kissed her as Gene plonked down their drinks on the table.

'Oi. Alex says I don't need to be jealous, but lay off my bird.'

Cruickshank laughed, and held out his hand. 'I'm family now. Just been appointed. Congratulations, Gene, you lucky, lucky bastard.'

'Congratulations? What for? You getting promoted, Guv?' Womble had finally made it through the room, and collapsed on a chair next to Alex.

She kissed him, and nodded at his injured leg. 'Not as bad as it looked?'

'Flesh wound – in one side and out the other. Bloody painful but only needed Dettol and a darning needle. They weren't going to keep me from my _uisce beatha_.'

Cruickshank leapt to his feet to get another chair as Carol came to join them. Gene, already quite pissed, stood and wrapped his arms round her, hugging her tight, then let her go and sat down without a word to her.

'I'm going to head home, I think. Want to see Scott. But you stay here, Rog. Hoover up the free drinks while you can.'

'Sit down for a sec, Carol. Got something to tell you.' Gene waved her into the chair. 'Keep it under your hat, but I'm getting married next Saturday.'

'All by yourself?' Carol was laughing at him.

'What? Oh. I should have said that on Saturday the tenth of April I will have the extraordinary honour and exquisite pleasure of marrying Alex Bollinger Knickers Drake, if she'll still have me.' He groped for Alex's hand, lifted it to his lips for a kiss, and hung on to it. 'And I'd like you, Carol, to be a witness. And you,' turning to Womble, 'you green-blooded hero, will you be my best man? No, not a question. You will be my best man.'

xxxxxxxxxxx

Cruickshank asked Moody to drive Carol home and come back for him, intending to leave by ten. But Gene was in the mood for serious alcohol abuse, and it was after one when they staggered up the steps to the street and piled into the black XJ6, Gene not arguing about driving home, for once. The three men were still burbling on about nonsense, but Alex remembered the card that Luigi had given her earlier. She pulled it out of her pocket and opened it, squinting at the crabby writing in the dim light.

'_TV star now, Alex? National hero. I'm impressed. I'm happy. Hope you're happy too. Be seeing you. xxx'_

Alex shuddered, and had to clamp a hand over her mouth to stop her scream. _Not now. Please, no more_…

xxxxxxxx

TBC


	33. Shortening the odds

Chapter 33 – shortening the odds

_A/N: Series 2 started as I wrote this chapter, and I took the decsion not to watch it until this story was completed, as it would be too much of a disconnect between the progress of 'my' lot and the proper version. So if, from this point on, there should be any clash between fic and series, it is coincidental. I'm avoiding any sources of spoilers, and people are being very kind in not giving anything away. _

_As ever, a huge thank you to Wombledon for more revoltingly valuable advice re human physiology, plus hurling back two huge question marks which meant a big new scene and several little extras. _

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The rattle of the letterbox woke Alex just after nine; she stumbled downstairs in the wake of an excited cat, and picked the post off the mat on the way to the kitchen.

Her head ached from lack of sleep and tense muscles; the note from Layton had been a shocking reminder of what remained unresolved, and it had kept her awake long after Gene had sunk into sleep.

Carol was due at ten – she'd offered to take Alex shopping: South Molton Street for the formal wear, Camden Lock for the fun stuff. She groaned, dropping her head into her hands. _I'm supposed to feel on top of the world with my wedding seven days can I have fun getting my wedding outfit with that little runt out there getting a kick out of intimidating me?_

But she couldn't help smiling a few minutes later as Gene, in black jeans and a toffee-coloured jersey, shambled into the kitchen like he'd been dragged out of hibernation a month early; hair like strewn hay, stubble round the sulky mouth. 'You're up early, Bolls.' His voice was an octave lower than normal, rasped by whisky, smoke and drunken pub shouting.

'Carol and I are going shopping. She'll be here in a while.'

'Oh. Good. Get some beers in, will you? Grand National on this aft.'

'Not that kind of shopping, dimwit. Clothes…'

'Oh. Well, get some beers in on your way back.' He looked at her with eyes half closed against the sunlight. 'What're you grinning at?'

'You look like the Honey Monster.'

'What?'

'_I want my honey, mummy_…'

'I think that's my line.' He bent and wrapped his arms round her, growling as he gnawed on her neck till she giggled. 'That's better. You had a face on you like a wet Gazette. What've we got for breakfast?'

'Not a sausage.'

'That's good for you, Bolls. But this is important. Do you mean no sausages but other stuff, or nothing at all?'

'Not even milk.'

Alex made herself a black coffee and got dressed while Gene went to the shop on Roman Road for comestibles. By the time he came back with a bag of breakfast, the Sun and the Sporting Life, his kitchen was full of people. Carol he'd expected, but not the others.

'Bloody hellfire. It's Orinoco and Double-Oh-Eck.'

Womble gestured at Cruickshank, who was grinning at his new handle. 'The chief and I thought that in the light of next Saturday's plans, we'd better make sure you had a decent tie to get married in.' He looked at Gene's expression and burst out laughing. 'You've got a face on you like a bulldog licking piss off a nettle.'

Gene was not amused. 'I intend to have a face on me like a policeman with nothing on his mind but his helmet. The birds are going into town. I'm having breakfast, then reading the tits, then deciding which donkeys are going to carry my money to the losing post at Aintree, then watching the National with the cat and a six-pack. You two are welcome to join me, or you can naff off to the West End, you pair of Marys. The only shop I'm going near today is a betting shop.'

Seeing the clouds gathered on Gene's forehead, Carol tapped Alex on the arm. 'Come on, let's leave them to it.' They kissed their men, then both kissed Cruickshank, and were gone.

Gene faced his tormentors, glowering. 'Right. How many eggs?'

They debated the likely prospects of Aintree runners over eggs, bacon, tomato, mushrooms and toast: what Gene declared a National Hunt breakfast. But Cruickshank ruined the harmonious morning by returning to the thorny topic of clothes.

'Look, Brian. You may top me in height and rank, but it's my bloody wedding, and we are not making a big fuss. Simple, quick and quiet.'

'You're not even making a small fuss, by the sound of it. You ashamed of your bride, Gene?' Cruickshank asked mildly.

He got a black look for that.

Cruickshank continued softly, softly. 'I know Alex agrees to simple and quiet, but she'll want to be married to the best looking man in the room…'

'But I'm spoken for.' Womble darted in, making the others chuckle.

'…and if she's given the choice between Cary Grant and Jack Regan, well….' Cruickshank shrugged. 'I'm planning on looking shit-hot when I stand at her side next Saturday.'

'Bastard.'

'Proud bastard. Look, you stubborn prat. You'd marry Alex if she were wearing a bin liner, but think how proud you'll be to stand up with a woman who's made every effort to look beautiful for you. For _you_, Gene. Isn't she worth an hour's aggravation to look good for her? Make her proud of you?' He thought for a second, and shook his head. 'Hmm, no, forget it. As long as you turn up, I'm sure she won't care what you're wearing. Tell you what. I'm going to Jermyn Street for my clobber anyway, so I'll get you a tie that I think Alex'll like. How's that?'

Gene chewed his lip as he glared at the tall man. 'Hmph. Blackmailing bastard.'

'We'll be back in plenty of time for the big race, I promise. And there are bookies in Soho.'

'I thought you said Jermyn Street?'

'It's only across Piccadilly Circus.'

The possibilities flashed through Gene's mind. _Soho. Leisure wear. A toy or two_. 'All right, you manipulative bugger. I'll be ten minutes. You can do the washing up.' He turned on Womble. 'Fat lot of good you were, Best Man.'

Womble beamed at him, his lips clamped together. Gene snorted in disgust at the pair of them and went up to shave.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Alex and Carol got back at five to find Womble alone in the house, half-pissed and happy. 'We all won, thanks to the big Fella Cruickshank himself. I don't know where he gets his information, but it was so good it was bent. He gave Gene the winner, got the first three himself, and he made me put fifty quid on Geraldine Rees to get round. First woman to do it. Came in last, but she got me three hundred smackers, the beauty.'

Alex wasn't exactly surprised by Cruickshank's amazing luck. Even she remembered Grittar winning; Evan had backed him for his jockey, a first-timer in the race, and at forty-eight the oldest bloke ever to win. Dancing round the kitchen waving the betting slip, Evan had said it gave him hope for the future: he could always turn to jump racing when he retired.

'Where are they?' Carol sat on the sofa next to her green-blooded hero.

'Brian's gone into the Yard, and Gene went to the hospital to see the kids.'

'You been here all day?'

'Like hell. We've been _shopping_. And how. I got away with only a minor scalping. They were both skinned. Good thing we all won on the horses.'

'What did Gene get? Can I see?' Alex was agog.

'Not a chance, missus. You'll be wanting to have a nice surprise when he turns up in flares, kipper tie and a tank top now, won't you?'

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

At the London, Gene saw that Firoz was on his own, and hurried across to him, keen to talk to the child before his father came back. He waved to Mirza, who already had a visitor. 'I'll come and see you in a minute.' The boy nodded, beaming, and his visitor turned and looked at the tall man sitting down by the Saleh boy's bed.

Firoz was asleep, or worse. Gene was shocked by the deterioration since he and Alex had last seen him. Little more than a shadow on the bed, he looked as though everything had been sucked out of him. There was a drip in his left hand, so Gene took his right, a weightless bundle of bones under papery skin. 'Firoz? It's Gene. You remember, the police officer? I was with my friend Alex last time. You liked her. She fell for you.' _Christ. I'm talking bollocks. What do I say to him?_ 'We're still looking forward to you coming in to the station. Lots of naughty people you can help us catch. But we've caught all the people who hurt you, Firoz. They're locked up for a long time; won't ever hurt anyone again…'

'Hey, you!' A furious voice hit Gene from behind, a second before Saifur Saleh erupted into view. 'Oh, it's you. The policeman.' The man's rage subsided, but he gestured for Gene to move. 'Please go. You must see my son is not well enough for visitors.'

'Okay, sir.' _You're making him worse, you poor sod. He needs to hear some life around him. Cheer him up, not pray at him all bloody day_. 'I just wanted to see how he was doing.'

'As you can see. Thank you for your concern, but you will please go now.'

Gene nodded, and gave the boy's frail forearm the gentlest of strokes. 'Bye, Firoz. See you soon. Get better, now.' He stood and went across to Mirza, who by contrast was full of life. 'Hello, trouble. You're looking better.'

'Gene, Gene! This is my father, Rajin. Poppa, this is Gene, who is the head policeman in the whole world.'

Gene laughed, and shook the man's outstretched hand. 'Pity you can't get him to be a bit more positive, Mr Ispahani…' The young man, who was in his mid-twenties, smiled broadly. 'Mirza talks about you a great deal, Mr..?

'Hunt. Gene Hunt. I'm a police officer at Fenchurch East. Only a DCI, though, not the Commissioner.'

'And who is Alex? She is also in Mirza's every other sentence.'

'My colleague, Detective Inspector Alex Drake.' He had a sudden thought. 'Actually, Mirza, I've got some news for you. Alex and I are getting married a week today.'

The boy clapped his hands. 'I said. Didn't I say, poppa?'

'You did. He said she was your girlfriend, Mr Hunt.'

'Clever little tyke, aren't you? I'm supposed to be her boss, but…'

Mirza giggled. 'Like mami. She is queen in our house and poppa is her slave.'

'Enough, now, Mirza.'

Gene scratched his head and puffed out a sharp breath. 'Yup. That about covers it.' He gestured to Mirza's injuries. 'How's he getting on?'

'Very well. He had another skin graft to his leg on Thursday, and if all goes well, he should come home next week.'

'Good. Well, you cheeky monkey, if you're out of here, and would like to come to my wedding, we'd love to have you there. And your mum and dad.'

'Oh, yes!'

'Thank you, Mr Hunt. You are very generous.'

'Not in the slightest. Alex took a serious fancy to your son so she'd insist. Mind you,' he said sternly to the child, 'if Alex decides she'd rather marry you than me, I'll have something to say about it. Understand, handsome?'

The child nodded, wide-eyed.

'Er, look. There is something else I need to tell you. It's good news, but it's serious. The men who hurt you and the other kids? We've caught them all, and they'll go to prison for the rest of their lives. They won't be able to hurt anyone again, and you'll never see them. Okay?' He patted the boy's shoulder. 'Mr Ispahani, could I have a word with you and Mr Saleh?' He crossed to the bay window as Mirza's father spoke to Saleh and brought him over.

'Thought you'd like to know more.' Both men nodded. 'The two men who threw the firebomb into the school playground are both dead. The man who killed them has been caught, as have all the people working for him. I don't think we can prove in court that he was responsible for the school firebomb, but he admitted as much to me. He will go to prison for the rest of his life, however, because we can prove beyond any possible doubt that he was behind the bombing campaign across the London, and yesterday he was filmed shooting a police officer, threatening another with a deadly weapon, and murdering his wife. He'll never see the outside world again except through barred windows.'

'Then my wife was correct,' Saleh said. 'She was talking about some terrible incident happening in London, with a woman killed and a man shot. I thought she was talking nonsense. Some crazy film, maybe.'

Mirza's father nodded. 'The invasion of the Falkland Islands sounded crazy, too. Talk of war with Argentina. Too late for April Fool jokes.' He frowned suddenly. 'That was you, Mr Hunt, on the TV? And the man in white, he is the culprit who hurt our children?'

'Yes, sir. Jack Carteret. He will be committed for trial on Monday morning at Westminster Magistrates' Court, if you want to be there to see him begin the process that will end behind high walls.'

'You're one hundred per cent certain that this man is responsible for hurting our children?'

'Yes, Mr Saleh. It's a dead cert.'

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Maybe I should I tell him about Layton's note._ Alex lay in Gene's arms on the sofa, ignoring the FA Cup semis highlights; Man City wasn't involved, so he was half-asleep, having drunk the rest of the beers with a large cod and chips. _If I don't tell him, and he finds out, he'll be livid. But if I do tell him, he'll go off the deep end like before. Won't be able to help himself. And he's so exhausted, poor love. _She knew Evan had taken little Alex away for Easter, and wouldn't be back till the summer term started, so she wasn't at risk. Which left her grown-up self. _I'm not going to be on my own for five minutes between now and the wedding, then we'll be away. I know how Layton operates. I can get Duffy and Lucas back on his case next week without saying I've heard from him. _There. She had a solution, of sorts. She didn't have to give Gene anything else to worry about.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sunday morning was blissfully slow; they took a long time to get out of bed, then, after breakfast, took a long, hot bath. Eventually dressed and vertical, they drove to Stoke Newington for a pub lunch with the Wombles. It was something of a celebration, but the men had more on their mind.

At a nod from Womble, Gene took a deep breath. 'We've been talking about the future. Things have changed for both of us – which is the fault of you two bloody women…' He took Alex's hand under the table, with a glance that made her blush. '…and the last few weeks has made up my mind. Time to quit the force.'

'What?' She was stunned. He'd been talking to Womble? He'd said not a word to her. _Not one sodding word._ _Where__ the hell has this come from? I know he keeps saying he's had enough, but..._

Gene saw from Alex's expression that his bombshell was exploding with more force than he expected. 'I've done my twenty-five years, Alex, and if I jump now they'll be on their bloody knees in gratitude that they won't have to push me.'

'But…' _Christ – doesn't he think it would affect me? Doesn't he think my opinion's worth anything? Doesn't he even think he should tell me before telling the world?_

'But nothing, love. I'm flavour of the month now, but next month my name'll be back on top of the Out tray. Best to screw a good deal out the bastards now, while I've got some leverage.'

Alex looked over at Carol. 'Roger's not thinking of leaving, is he?'

'Seems so.'

'So you've talked about it.'

'This morning.' Carol raised her eyebrows in sympathy.

'Makes sense for me, too.' Womble caught Carol's eye. 'I obviously can't ask Carol and Scott to move to Belfast, and if I join the Met, with the Troubles spreading to the mainland it's not exactly a stress-free job. And what's the point of trying to grab a bit of happiness if I let the job screw it up for all three of us?'

Carol sneaked an arm round his waist and leaned against him; Womble put his arm round her shoulder and kissed the side of her head. 'Cruickshank's offered to whisper in Annesley's ear – reckons he can get me out of the RUC with a full pension plus a bit, after all this. Hard to argue with all that media coverage, eh?'

Alex looked from Womble to Gene, trying to keep her temper under control. 'So? Spit it out. You've obviously got a cunning plan.'

The two men swapped glances, and Womble took a deep breath. 'Yes, we reckon so.'

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

'You're very quiet.' Gene knew there was a row coming. Better to get it over with while she was driving. She couldn't drive and hit him. _Except at traffic lights_.

She'd wanted to leave as soon as Womble had outlined their idea. He knew he was in deep shit when she'd snatched the car keys off him, hissing at him while the others were getting coats on. 'We agreed. You'd drink, I'd drive. We discussed _that_.'

He bit back a snappish answer, trying to keep the lid on his temper. They hadn't discussed it. She'd suggested, he'd agreed. She'd proved herself a good driver, so he was prepared to share the Quattro. She didn't seem to appreciate that either. _Doesn't care if she drives the Quattro or a pigging Allegro._ _Just like a bloody woman._ And why was she so narky about him retiring from the Police? She'd always known his days were numbered. She'd told him so herself, from the day she'd arrived. And she'd known for weeks that he wanted out. _Because of her, for Christ's sake_. He'd told her often enough. And he had a plan, he'd worked things through, not gone off half-cocked… _Bloody brilliant plan, too. Even found a partner, for god's sake. And she's still pissed off. What am I supposed to do, for fuck's sake?_ He took a deep breath. _Calm down. If you lose your rag now_… Living together wasn't as easy as he'd imagined. It wasn't all great sex and clean shirts. She wouldn't even do his ironing. Not unless he did hers sometimes. The little daily frustrations of having someone in his house – even someone he loved as much as he loved Alex – drove him nuts. _She has no idea how often I have to grit my teeth. How much she irritates me. As if there's only one way to do things. Her bloody way._

Alex had said little since leaving the pub. If she opened her mouth, she knew she'd lose her temper. And she didn't want a row. _I know he didn't mean to be hurtful. I know he didn't realise. I know he loves me._ She kept telling herself there was no point in being angry. _But it hurts. It was humiliating, being the last to know. He talks to his new mate before he talks to me. Thoughtless bastard. Just like a bloody man_. She changed gear with more force than necessary as she turned off Mare Street towards Victoria Park.

Gene put his head in the lion's mouth. 'What's up, Bolls?'

'Nothing.'

_Oh, Christ. She's going to make me eat my balls on toast_. He didn't say another word till they got back to the house.

She stamped up the steps and wrestled the door open. 'This _fucking_ key…'

It did stick sometimes, but with a bit of finesse it was fine; still, Gene kept his mouth shut and followed her inside, closing the door quietly. Alex was gripping the banisters and taking deep breaths. _Here we go_. 'Alex, look…'

She turned and put her arms round his neck, kissing him with a fiery passion that shocked him rigid. For half a second he didn't react, stunned by the complete switch. But his body took over, catching fire from her touch. He held her head, met her bruising kiss, gasping her name as her hands slid down his body, already hard; growling with lust, she dealt with buckle and zip, freed him, stroked him to the edge of madness as he dragged her skirt up to her hips, nearly came when he found nothing but stocking tops and silky, damp flesh. '_Christ, Alex_…' He kicked off his shoes and trousers, spun them both round, her back against the wall; his hands on her arse, lifted her legs round his waist, drove into her, grunting as she clenched round him, thrusting with powerful strokes, gutteral sounds wrenched from her as he bit and sucked at her flesh, her thread thrown back, hands urging him on, driving him wild.

They didn't last long. Came together, bucking and cursing; breathless laughter as they came back to earth, sliding to the floor, limbs shaking, bodies spent, high on adrenalin and endorphins. They sat in the hallway, slumped against the wall in each other's arms, clothes awry; intensely, simply happy.

Alex turned to him, kissed him. 'I love you so much…' She put a gentle hand to his face, gazed into the green eyes. 'So much, Gene…' This kiss was tender, grateful; a promise.

'Alex…' He leaned his forehead against hers, his hand under her hair, holding her gently. 'You… bewildering… I thought you were angry. Expected a row. Not that.' He chuckled, still out of breath. Kissed her. 'Wonderful. Love you…'

She slid her arms round his waist, her head on his chest. 'I _was_ angry. But I didn't want a row. Knew you didn't mean to hurt me. But it did hurt, Gene. Felt as though you didn't need me. Like I wasn't really part of your life.'

'Jesus, Bolls. You're not just part of my life. You're everything. You know that.'

'But it's hard to believe. You and me. Not used to it yet. You, loving me.'

'You think that's odd? Try you loving me. Didn't see that coming in a thousand years.'

She chuckled, squeezing him tight. 'No. Bit of a blinder, that. Snuck up on me.' One hand slithered under his jersey, stroked the smooth skin. 'Mmmm. Sneaky is best.' She tweaked his nipple, making him wince. 'That's for being a pillock.' She kissed the base of his throat, running the tip of tongue up to his chin. 'And that's for the fabulous shag.'

He made a noise like a lion purring. 'Any time, Bolls. All the time. Sorry for… you know. I'd never deliberately hurt you. Thought you'd be pleased. And thanks for…' He kissed her rather than finish the sentence. 'But got to move. Freezing my arse off. Draught coming under the door's slicing right through my vitals.'

He gasped, and groaned as Alex's hand slid down and wrapped round his cock. 'Can't have that,' she murmured, her lips feathering over his jaw. 'Shall we go upstairs? Warmer in bed.'

His vitals were warming up rather quickly beneath her encouraging hand. 'Uh-huh…' They struggled to their feet, Gene dragging off Alex's top and scrabbling to undo her bra as they made their way up, her hands busy pushing his jersey up over his shoulders. Half way up the stairs, pulling his jersey over his head, Gene tripped and went down on one knee. 'Ow, ow… shit.'

'Shut up whining and turn round.' She knelt a few steps below him, pushing his knees apart. 'I'll kiss it better…'

He leaned back on his elbows, surrendered to her, watched her as she bent over him; he felt her breath warm on his cock for a second before her hot, wet tongue curled round him and her lips… _God, those lips_…

Alex tasted him, felt him harden in her mouth. Felt him pulling away, tugging her up to him, trying to manoeuvre her…

'Shit. Bloody stairs too steep. Can't… Turn round, Bolls.' She complied, his hands on her hips; felt him guide her down on to him. 'Have to have you, Alex. Never enough...'

She gasped with the exquisite sensation of him sliding inside her, heard him groan as he held her steady for a moment. 'Yeah, Alex, y… yeah…' His hands cupped her breasts as she leaned forward, moving her hips to find the perfect angle.

'Gene, _there_… _yes_…' She clenched around him, hot, tight walls gripping and releasing till he was moaning. She grabbed his hand, showed him what she wanted; he sat forward against her so he could reach better, and stroked her in time with her pulses, till she began to lose control, growling deep in her throat, head thrown back. 'More… Gene, _now_… _more_…' She grabbed the banister rail in one hand, the other pressed against the wall.

He leaned back, hands gripping her hips, close to the edge of control; thrust into her hard, again, again, again, as the dark began to close over him. Alex was grunting, moaning, clenching round him, head dropped, her voice rising from a growl as she spiralled up, her whole body in spasm, shaking as the tension reached breaking point, the scream ripped from her as she broke, rocking violently as she flooded hot around him, driving him over the edge shouting her name, falling slowly to earth.

After a while she stood up shakily and turned round so she could sit on his lap, straddling him. She fell against his chest, kissing his shoulder and putting her arms round him, beyond words. Gene held her tight for a moment, then rocked her gently, too full of feeling to speak.

The phone rang, but neither of them wanted to let the world intrude; they let it ring till the answering machine kicked in. It was Ruth, in Manchester. 'Gene? Sorry to bother you, love, but I really need to talk to you. Give us a ring, soon as. Sorry, love. Thanks.' She left her number and rang off.

'Was that your ex?'

'Yeah. She's never rung me here before.'

'Go on. She sounds upset. Ring her back.'

He sighed. 'Okay. Don't go away.' He retrieved his trousers and headed for the phone. Hearing Dino screaming, he opened the kitchen door; the cat shot out, yelling at them, furious at being shut away, not allowed to join in whatever games they'd been playing. Ignored by Gene, the cat scooted into the hall and upstairs to Alex; she picked him up and tried to cuddle him, but Dino wriggled out of her grasp, jumped to the floor and trotted back to their mutual friend. She sighed, rejected as usual, and got to her feet; retrieving scattered clothing, she felt the after-effects of their impromptu exercises. She smiled, and went upstairs to change.

Ruth sounded relieved to hear his voice, but she was trying to hide it. 'You're the talk of the town, Gene. I'm basking in your reflected glory. Are you really okay?'

'Takes more than a psycho slasher with a Napoleon complex to put me off my lunch, Ruthie. I'm fine, love. How're you? How's Ena?'

His ex-wife didn't answer for a second. 'That's why I've phoned. Mum's in hospital. She had a bit of a turn this morning. A small stroke, they said.'

'I'll come up tomorrow.'

That she didn't argue told him how worried she was.

'I've got to be in court in the morning – committal hearing for Carteret. The bloke from Friday. But I'll drive up straight after.'

When Ruth had rung off, Gene noticed the answering machine blinking. One message. _It can bloody wait._ When Alex came down he gave her the gist of his conversation with Ruth.

She threw him his jersey. 'I didn't think you were on good terms with her.'

'I wasn't. Saw her at her dad's funeral. We talked after. Sorted things. I'll tell you on the way up tomorrow.'

'You want me to come with you? Won't it be a bit odd?'

'I promised Ena I'd take you to meet her.'

'You told them about me?'

'No. Well.' He looked a bit shifty. 'She wormed it out of me, the old besom. Known me all my life. Never could hide anything from her.'

'Won't Ruth mind?'

'She wants to meet the woman who… er…'

'Loves you.'

'Those were her very words, Bolls.' He pushed his fingers through her hair, cupped her face in his hands, gazed at her with such intensity that she felt the tears fill her eyes. She closed them, felt the tears spill from under her lashes, felt Gene's lips kissing them away, tasted the salt as he kissed her mouth with a tenderness she guessed very few had ever seen in him.

But one sweet, lingering kiss was all they got. The cat, still desperate for attention, sprang from the back of the wing chair to Gene's shoulder, anchoring himself as he landed; Gene jerked upright, yelling in pained surprise. His reaction didn't bother the cat, who was purring at top volume into his ear, latched on to his jersey and apparently enjoying the ride.

Alex had subsided on to the sofa in hysterics. 'You've got a jealous gay cat.'

Gene slumped down on the sofa beside her and plucked the cat from his shoulder, holding the still purring animal close to his face before plonking him on Alex's stomach. But Dino wasn't having second best, and hopped straight back to Gene, curling up on his chest instantly, eyes shut, tail over nose, before he could be moved again.

'You little sod!' Alex had to admire the cat's attitude, but still felt a bit hurt at another stark rejection. _Oh well._ _If you can't beat 'em, join 'em_. 'Hey, honey monster, let me in.' She snuggled under Gene's arm, head on his shoulder; she reached up a hand to stroke the cat, and got extra purring. _At least the cute little git doesn't mind sharing_.

'Hell. Didn't listen to the message. Might be urgent.' Gene made to get up, but Alex stopped him.

'You stay there. You can't move the cat now. I'll get – it's probably Womble, ringing to see if I've murdered you.'

It wasn't. After the preliminaries, Alex didn't say much, but enough for Gene to know it wasn't good news. She hung up and came back, sitting on the edge of the sofa, taking his hand before she spoke. 'Firoz. Early this morning…'

He wrenched himself to his feet, tipping the cat on to the floor and stalking out of the room.

'Gene!' She went after him.

He was dragging his coat on. 'I'll be back later.' And he was gone. She followed him out of the front door and saw his coat tails whisking round the corner and over the skew bridge. If he hadn't taken the car, there was only one place he'd go. She knew how much he'd fallen for those kids. So vulnerable, innocents caught up in the cynicism of adults; little bodies in huge hospital beds, fragile, needing protection. They were so sweet, those two boys, responding so readily to Gene's gruff concern, greedy for his attention, laughing at his foolery, two arrows that had flown straight into his heart. She pictured Firoz, frail, all the substance drained out of him, not helped by his poor father, desperate to save his child and unable to inject the life back into him. Resenting his son's response to Gene, furiously protective. Just… furious. Firoz. Nicole. Jim… She wept, bitter tears for the children, for her friend. For Gene. _Molly_.

She drove round to the Crown just before closing time. It was only five minutes walk, but Gene was not likely to be in any state to put one foot in front of the other.

Eddy Stone, the blue-eyed plumber, greeted her like an old friend; Aggie was collecting glasses. 'Allo, love. Come to collect 'im? He's had a skinful. You had a row or something?'

Alex shook her head. 'Had some bad news. Where is he?'

The landlady jerked her head towards the back of the pub. 'Round the other side of the chimneybreast, look.'

Gene was slumped over a table, an inch of beer in the bottom of his glass and a sniff of scotch at the bottom of another; ashtray knocked over – ash and dogends spilt over the sticky table. Alex sat down and put a gentle hand on his arm. His head swivelled towards her and he could focus enough to recognise her, at least. 'Bolls… Wha' you doin' 'ere?' He sounded surprised to see her.

'Hello, my love. Thought you'd like a lift home.'

In the end it took three of them to get Gene into the car. Lighthouse and his equally broad-shouldered mate manhandled Gene out to the Quattro, and Alex lifted one foot and then the other into the car, dragging the seat belt round him to stop him falling forward. She'd never seen him so paralytic and still conscious.

Lighthouse didn't disappear immediately. 'Er, you going to be all right getting him out again, darling? Got someone at home to help you?'

'Er, good point.'

'You far away?'

'Chisenhale Road.'

'Easy. I'm down Zealand. Want me to come with you? Give you a hand?'

Between them they got Gene into the house and upstairs, and Eddy left Alex to it. 'You're welcome, darling,' he said to her thanks. 'Come and have a drink with us one night.'

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Alex woke alone. Squinted at the clock. _Three twenty_. Shivering, she threw on a bathrobe and padded downstairs; Gene was hunched on the sofa, two fag ends in the ashtray, scotch on the table in front of him and, inevitably, the cat lodged against his thigh.

'Sorry, Bolls, 'm pissed...'

'Mind if I sit with you?'

'Best on my own.' He wouldn't look at her.

She stood at his knee; touched her fingers to his hair, combing it lightly.

'Don't touch me. Please, Bolls…' His voice was unsteady.

She stroked her palm down to his nape, rubbed his neck softly. '_Oh, love_…' she murmured, and knelt beside him on the sofa, putting her arms around him. He resisted her, holding himself rigid, turning his face away from her.

'Gene… don't you think I haven't been crying for him? For all of them. You don't have to grieve alone.' She put a hand to his face. '_Love_… Look at me, Gene, please.'

He turned his head and lifted his eyes to meet hers. Saw the tears running down her cheeks. He hugged her tight, his face buried in her neck. She held him close, let him grieve till he was emptied out, exhausted. Then she took him back to bed and held him till he slept.

_Can't tell him about Layton now. How can I? He's shattered. Anyway he doesn't need to know. What extra could he do? I'll be careful. Stay close to him, make sure I'm not at risk. Won't do anything stupid. We can catch the bastard. It's an open case._ Fractured thoughts flying round her head, she lay with her arms round Gene, holding the world at bay for him, determined to give him some peace. _And telling him wouldn't give him peace_. Later, when they'd caught Layton, she'd tell him. He'd shout at her, but then they'd laugh about it. Maybe. _But_ _I can't tell him now_.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Monday morning was shrouded in dark clouds and driving rain. Carteret's committal hearing was scheduled for ten at the Horseferry Road Magistrates' Court, so they were there at nine-thirty to have a word with the prosecution counsel, an old hand who'd despatched quite a few of Gene's collars to long holidays at Her Majesty's pleasure.

The rumpled barrister was in the echoing corridor outside Court Three, and turned to greet them. 'Well now, how marvellous. The Deliquescent Inspectress Alex Drake, as I live and breathe. Which is more than can be said for the beneficiary of your tender mercies on Friday. Nasty business. You suffered no ill effects, I trust?'

'I'm fine, Mr Northcote, thank you. You're looking well.'

'Some would call that a blatant lie. I, of course, would call it a kindness.' He beamed at her.

'Any problems, Cicero?'

'Not that I can envisage, Gene. Since your man committed a spectacularly bloody murder for the benefit of the television cameras and half of Fleet Street's best snappers, I very much doubt that even the least perspicacious of our esteemed magistrates could quibble to any great effect.'

'Crown Court, then. Any idea which?'

'Southwark, I imagine, but we're in the hands of the Clerks.'

'There's no way he can end up with anything less than life?'

'If he doesn't get at least two consecutive life sentences, I'll fricasee my wig and eat it _comme une assiette de choux-fleur a la sauce anglaise_.'

'Good enough for me.' Gene clapped the old boy on the shoulder, shaking loose a small cloud of dust from the once-black suit. 'See you in there.' He gestured to Alex. 'Come on, Titania, time for a fag before kick-off.' As they rounded the corner, they saw Saifur Saleh sitting with Rajin Ispahani, and opposite them, the school's headmistress sitting with a young couple looking grey and drawn. Gene stalked straight past them and out of the building without so much as a look. Dr Khatun stood and held her hand out to Alex.

'Detective Inspector Drake, good morning.'

'Dr Khatun. How are the children?'

'May I introduce you to Mr and Mrs Cazneau.'

_Oh, god._ 'Hello. I'm so sorry about Nicole…'

They didn't speak. The husband nodded, but his wife's face contorted with grief and dropped her head.

Alex turned to speak to the two men; Mirza's father looked sombre, but Saifur Saleh seemed calm, almost relaxed. He stood and bowed his head to her. 'We are here to see justice done for our children.'

'Yes, sir. The first step, anyway.'

Saleh looked straight at her, his black eyes unreadable. He nodded, and sat down.

'Rajin, how's Mirza?' Alex spoke softly.

'He's very sad. He cried all day. The nurses moved his bed so he does not see the corner.'

'We'll go and see him later.'

Gene came back, standing very straight as he shook hands with the two men; exchanged glances that said what was needed. He nodded, and turned to Alex.

'Guv, you remember Dr Khatun. And Nicole Cazneau's parents.' Again, no words spoken, but everything understood.

By this time the police contingent had arrived – DCI Clark and one of his DCs, two uniforms who'd been at the Mall, Ray and Lucas, Carol and Womble.

The courtroom was stuffed, even though the proceedings were just a formality to commit the prisoner to trial at the Crown Court; Carteret had destroyed and damaged many lives, and London wanted to see him behind bars. The few court reporters given access were a tiny proportion of the frothing mass of cameras, microphones and yelling reporters outside the building. Jack Carteret had an audience.

Alex looked round the courtroom and saw, sitting at the back, the father and widow of Govinder Dev, one of the two men who firebombed the school; she didn't want to think how they must be feeling. Decent people with the deaths of children on the family conscience, and the brutal death of son and husband to cope with. Then she saw another face. A woman in an expensive grey suit, blonde hair professionally dressed, face carefuly made up. It seemed that Lucilla Grenville had dropped her Hindu carapace and reverted to type.

There was one glaring absence: the invisible man, father of Lucilla and Harry, Miranda's uncle, the financial and political power behind Carteret ­– Sir Richard Grenville, last known lunching with a cabinet minister before vanishing into the west. Despite Clark's best efforts since the Priory raid, Special Branch had so far failed to find the man.

_Don't suppose he'll escape entirely. Caused too many red faces in exalted circles._ Gene thought with satisfaction that people with that kind of influence would have long memories and a long reach. _He'll get his, and he'll not enjoy the wait_.

The magistrates filed in, sat at the bench looking down on the well of the court. A man and in his early fifties and two women, both older; all dressed soberly in browns and greys, a triptych of respectability. With them came clerks, scurrying in with arms full of files, setting up for the morning, whispering to each other and nodding to colleagues across the room. Carteret was to be first up so they could get the fuss over with; the chairman called the case, and Carteret was brought from the cells, flanked by two solid PCs and handcuffed by his left wrist to one of them, walking the few feet to the dock through an undercurrent of whispers and muttering.

The clerk stood and addressed the prisoner. 'Are you John Cecil de Wattville Carteret, of 89 Theberton Street, London N1?'

'I am.' The dark voice reached every corner of the court.

The court listened to the string of offences the man was charged with; then there was a hiatus as papers were shunted to and fro, and brief consultations made. Just as the chairman looked round at the court and prepared to speak, there was a confusion of movement and alarm as a figure leapt down from the body of the court. It was Saleh. Shouted warnings came too slowly. He vaulted over the rail of the dock, grabbing Carteret by the shoulder with his left hand; there was a glint of bright metal as Saleh pulled a curved blade from his clothes, shouting in Arabic; then even as the two constables grabbed at him and tried to pull him away, there was a blur as Saleh slashed Carteret's throat. His blood, in a pumping spray from the severed blood vessels, turned the court of law into a slaughterhouse in seconds; his right hand was clamped to his throat, failing to stem the pump powered by his own strong heart muscle; he fell back against the wall, dragging the cuffed constable down with him, a wet red slick over the dock and the white painted walls, dripping from the rails, spattering everything. The screams and the panic were rising around the room as shocked minds began to understand what had happened, people yelling in primal terror as they scrambled to get out, get away from the death unfolding in front of them. Police officers were trying to stem the panic, but as people fled from the building into the greedy jaws of the press, it became another media feeding frenzy.

Carteret's heart pumped till there was nothing left, body failing as his brain was starved of oxygen. His guardian was shouting for help, clamping one hand over the gaping wound and wiping the blood from his own eyes, trying uselessly to resuscitate his prisoner, not knowing what else to do, still locked to the dying man.

The other copper had Saleh face down on the floor, disarmed and passive now that he'd avenged his dead child. Gene pushed through to them, spoke quietly to the young copper and helping him lift Saleh to his feet. Firoz's father stood calmly, looking Gene straight in the eye. There was no regret, no shame, no fear; a serene acceptance of whatever was to come. Gene nodded, most of him understanding, even condoning the man's action; recognising natural justice. Part of him wished he'd done it himself. He turned away, letting the constable push Saleh through the door to the cells. The sound of clapping broke through the chaos of voices; Gene looked up and saw Nicole Cazneau's mother on her feet, applauding Saleh. Alex was standing with her, a comforting hand round her back, saying something; maybe trying to get her to move away. Another pair of hands joined Mrs Cazneau's: Lucilla Grenville, whose brother, husband and cousin had all died by Carteret's hand. Then more hands, more angry people endorsing the Bengali's sharp justice. The applause did more than anything else to calm the courtroom as people stopped and turned back to see what was happening.

Gene looked at the man on the floor of the dock, lying in his own blood in a dark echo of the death he'd given his wife. _He's better dead. No chance of him spreading his poison any further. Retribution_. The smell of blood, ferrous and carnal, was repellent, but he went to help the shocked custody officer unlock his cuff and get away from the body. A flash as a photographer got a shot before being hustled out by a court official.

Trailing bloody footprints, Gene went in search of Alex, finding her in the corridor with Ray and Womble.

'You all right, Guv?'

'Yeah, Ray. You know Saleh's kid died yesterday? Poor bastard.'

'Saved us the cost of a long trial, let alone Carteret's board and lodging for the next thirty years. That Paki should get a medal.'

Alex frowned. 'All right, Ray. That's enough.'

'You're not telling me you're sorry that bastard's dead, Boss.'

'No. I'd have stopped Saleh if I'd had the chance, but I'm not sorry Carteret's dead. He's left a legacy of grief and pain and I hope there's a vengeful god waiting for him.' She looked at Gene, smears of blood all over him. 'Come on. Let's go.'

'I'm going to Manchester, Ray. Back tomorrow afternoon. Ask Clark what needs doing at our end to clear up.'

'Right, Guv.'

'Carol okay, Roger?'

'Shaken. She's not quite as tough as she likes to think.'

'Look after her.'

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As they pushed through the crowd outside the building, making their way back to the car, Alex felt her hackles rise. Someone was staring at her. She whipped round, scanning faces. Nothing. Then a glimpse of straggly hair, sharp nose, a man walking away. He turned his head briefly. Was it? Was it? She couldn't see. Vanished. Maybe she imagined him.

'Bolls? You coming?'

She turned back, ran to catch up. Took his hand, suddenly shivery. Someone was walking over her grave.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

TBC


	34. Family man

_Wombledon's the beta who pokes sharp little pokey sticks at me and makes me either justify things or rewrite. Or cut. I hate that. Mostly because she's right. grrr. But I'm endlessly grateful. _

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mirza was alone in a crowded ward. His friend Firoz had not just gone, but had died in front of him, and it didn't take Gene long to see that a six year old grieved no less bitterly for being only six. He lay on his back, face turned to the wall, listless and silent.

'Mirza?' Alex called softly to him, but there was no response.

'Oi, trouble. Come on, sit up and say hello.' At the sound of Gene's voice, the child looked round and sat up, putting out his arms to him, his face crumpling. Gene sat on the edge of the bed and enveloped the little boy in a hug, blond head bent over the dark one so the child all but disappeared in the man's embrace. Tears filled Alex's eyes as much for Gene as for Mirza, her heart pierced by the memory of the racist, violent, angry man she'd once thought him; maybe the man he'd once been. _No – no-one changes their true character; they change their behaviour, change their values, learn and adapt._ But this Gene, the loving, open-hearted Gene had always been there, hidden away beneath hard defensive layers. _If only Sam Tyler could see him now…_

Mirza moved, tried to say something. Gene let him go and got to his feet. 'Back in a minute.' He strode out of the ward, leaving the boy staring after him in confusion.

Alex sat on the bed and put an arm round his shoulders, bending to kiss his head. 'Hello, Mirza.'

'Did I do something bad?'

'No… Gene's upset, that's all. He's very sad about Firoz, and worried about you. But he doesn't like to show it.'

'Why not? My poppa cried when Firoz died.'

'A lot of men like to keep their feelings hidden. They've been told that it's only girls who cry; they think they need to be strong all the time.'

'Everybody cries sometimes.'

'Yes, we do. You're a wise boy.' She shifted so she could look him in the eye. 'You know something? I'm really glad you're Gene's friend. He needs a clever boy like you to teach him things.'

'Me? But he's…' He couldn't find the words.

'I know. As we get older, we learn more and more. But we forget things, too. So someone who's really clever and strong and special, like Gene, still needs to be reminded of things they've forgotten. Important things, like not being embarrassed to feel sad.'

'But you know everything. You can teach him.'

Alex chuckled. 'Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I don't know much, Mirza. I know some things, different things to Gene, but I've discovered that I don't know as much as I thought I did. I'm learning, too.'

'What?'

'Lots. Fun things like football and the Wild West. Serious things like being a better police officer.' _Important things like loving, and being loved_. 'And I'm learning about Gene. He's full of surprises.'

'He told me a surprise.'

'Did he? Can you tell me?'

'You're getting married!'

'He told you that?'

'Yes, and he said we could come.'

She couldn't wait to get Gene on his own so she could kiss the face off him.

'And will you?'

'If my leg's better I can go home soon and then I can come to help you get married.'

'Well we'll have to tell your leg to get better immediately, because I want you there too.'

'Gene said if you wanted to marry me instead of him he'd have something to say about it.'

Alex laughed out loud. 'I bet he would!'

Her husband-to-be heard them laughing as he came back into the ward.

'Gene, Gene…' Mirza beckoned him closer.

'What?'

The boy reached up and put his arms round Gene's neck and whispered to him. Gene was nodding; at one point he looked rather shiny-eyed, and couldn't meet Alex's gaze. Eventually Mirza let him go and waited for his response.

'I think you're right. Yes. Thanks.'

The boy beckoned him closer again, and Gene leaned down to him. Mirza wrapped both arms tight round Gene's neck and hugged him, then kissed his cheek before letting him go.

Gene put both hands behind his head and took a deep breath, exhaling loudly. 'Right.' He looked at Alex, who was smiling at him, her eyes sparkling. 'Right. I need to talk to Alex about work, Mirza. Back in a minute.' He jerked his head towards the door, and Alex followed him out.

They found a sitting room with a door out to a little garden; as it was raining again,

they stood under the lintel, the fresh, cool air a welcome breather after the overheated ward. As Gene was fishing through pockets for his ciggies, Alex kissed his cheek and murmured 'I love you, Gene Hunt.'

He pulled away from her, eyes narrowed in suspicion. 'Don't you start. Had enough of that nonsense from the brat. What did you say to him, anyway?'

She shrugged, all innocence. 'Nothing.' She leaned against his chest and tipped her head back to look at him, her hands sneaking under his jacket and around his waist, fingers rubbing small circles on his back.

'Stop, Bolly.' He put his arms round her. 'Stop it.' He kissed her hair. 'Desist, woman.' Kissed her forehead and her nose. 'How many times…' he muttered, before touching his mouth to hers, cupping her face in his hands, losing himself in the kiss, the small sounds of longing in Alex's throat sending him spiralling.

She felt herself dissolve; had to cling to him when her knees threatened to buckle. She yearned to be closer, wanted…

'Hm-hmm.' A clearing of the throat. A nurse, pushing an adolescent boy in a wheelchair into the room. The boy was flushing scarlet watching the pair of them lost in each other; the nurse was trying not to grin.

Alex blushed, but Gene was unfazed. 'Afternoon,' he said to them, strolling past them. 'Nice day for it.'

Attempting to match his cool, Alex sauntered out of the room in his wake. In a corridor lined with plastic chairs, Gene stopped and grabbed Alex's shoulders, plonking her down into a chair. 'Stay there.' He sat three chairs away from her, out of harm's way. She looked demure, as though she wouldn't know what to do with a man if she caught one. He longed fiercely to find a flat surface behind a lockable door so he could remind her, bring her to fever pitch. He shook his head like a dog with earmites, but it didn't shift the image of a flushed, sweaty, naked Alex begging him to push his thermometer right up…'

'Gene!' She grinned. 'Save it for later.'

_Bloody woman's a mindreader. Is nothing sacred?_ He lit a cigarette and took a long, cooling drag.

'Gene – we've got to go back to Mirza in a minute. What are we going to do about his father?'

'They've got nothing on him. They'll let him go tonight.'

'You reckon?'

'Don't you?'

'_Gene_…? He's Asian. Saleh's Asian. "Couple of Paki bastards…" You can hear them saying as much. They won't listen to him. Won't care. Why are you being so naïve?He arrived with Saleh, sat with him. Lives nearby, child injured in the same incident. God knows what else they'll find to tie them together. If Rajin had so much as a glimmer of what Saleh intended, they'll do him for conspiracy to murder. Because they can.'

Alex looked at him, wondering what the hell was in his head. _A middle-aged policeman in 1980s Britain who thinks an Asian man right at the heart of trouble is going to walk clear, just like that?_ However much she loved him, Alex had had to cope with the fact that Gene wasn't the greatest advocate of diversity. _So is this because he's got to know Mirza, or is this a more radical change going on?_ The psychologist in her wanted to dig into his head; the police officer needed to get the immediate problems solved.

Gene sat forward and dropped his head into his hands, scrubbing at his face, then sat back, slapping his knees with determination. 'Right. You go back to Mirza. I'll make a couple of phone calls.' He stood up.

'Hang on, Gene. Does his wife even know he's in custody? And what about Mirza? It's his father who visits him. They've probably got other kids. Mirza is expecting his father to visit tonight. We can't just leave him.'

Gene looked at the floor. Chewed his lip, shifting from foot to foot. 'Carol.' He looked at Alex. 'I'll ring Carol.'

He vanished to find a phone, and Alex went back to Mirza. She got him to tell her about her mum, and his three year old twin sisters, and his baby brother, and he chattered about his family, happily distracted, till Gene returned. He came to the door of the ward and beckoned to her; led her to a quiet spot in the corridor.

'Carol's going to fetch Mirza's mum and the other kids. I've been told to have a word with the staff nurse, or there'll be a fuss.' He sighed.

'What about Rajin?' Alex nagged him.

'All right, Bolls. You only met him this morning. He's not your best pal.'

She glared at him, not appreciating being snapped at.

'Okay, you were right. Clark's given him to one of the goons at Belgravia CID...'

'At least he's not been sent to Paddington Green.'

'Not yet. This Sergeant Jaeger thinks Rajin's got some connection to the men who threw the firebomb and wanted revenge on Carteret for killing them.'

'The man's an idiot.'

'No, Bolls, he's not. He's one of their best crackers. Remarkable record of getting confessions.'

'Oh god…'

'He's had a go at him already, but now he's gone off on some chase with his DI and won't be back till tonight.'

'Are you thinking what I'm thinking?'

In the car, Alex got on to Viv. 'Could you be kind and find out about the DCI at Belgravia?'

Two minutes later he was back on. 'DCI Carl Linden. Not popular, according to my oppo. Shambolic. Anything for a quiet life, but he's got a nasty temper. Linden doesn't like leaving his office, so his DI pretty much runs the team.'

'Viv, you're a gem of the first water.'

They parked in Ebury Square and walked round to the entrance in Buckingham Palace Road; they asked to see Linden and were taken through to his empty office. The DCI, they were told, would be back momentarily.

'Try to charm him, Bolls. Give him an eyeful.'

'You're free with my assets.'

'Did you say "feel free", Bolls?'

Linden's appearance forestalled her riposte. An sorry specimen in his late forties, Belgravia's DCI was a wreck. Smelling faintly of booze, a yellow cast to the whites of his eyes, pasty-faced and shabby, Linden showed signs of being a late-stage alcoholic.

After the introductions, Gene went for it. 'You're entertaining a little scrote that we'd like to talk to. A Paki troublemaker called Ispahani. Brought in this morning after the fuss at Horseferry Road.'

'Er, yeah. My sergeant's been at him already. Don't think he got very far but he took him down a peg or two. Mouthy little wog.'

'Thing is, Carl, he's involved somehow in a case we're investigating. Arson and four murders. This morning's shindig was just an afterthought.' He got to his feet. 'Scuse me a minute. Going for a slash.' He dodged out of Linden's office, leaving Alex to it.

She smiled. 'You see, sir…'

'Carl, please.' The man smiled at Alex, but his eyes kept flicking to her cleavage.

She leaned forward a little; dropped her voice. 'You see, Carl, you'd be doing us a real favour if you'd hand him back to us. Well, to be honest, you'd be doing me a favour. I've not been too effective with this case, which is why the Guv's come in on it. If I could crack this suspect it would make all the difference. I'd be so grateful…'

Ten minutes later, Rajin Ispahani was booked out, cuffed and handed over to Alex, who borrowed a patrol car and driver to take her and the suspect to Fenchurch East, leaving Gene to drive back. In Scarborough Street Alex asked Viv to book Rajin in and send Shaz through to her.

In the interview room, she took the cuffs off his wrists. 'I'm so sorry about all this. We need to do this by the book so there can be no come back on you. We'll take you back to the hospital soon. Your wife and children are with Mirza now.'

Tears filled the young man's eyes. 'Thank god for you. I was so afraid…'

Shaz knocked and came in, a broad smile on her face. 'Hello, Ma'am.'

'Hi, Shaz. Is the Guv here?'

'He's talking to the team.'

'Could you get a drink for Mr Ispahani…' She looked questioningly at Rajin.

'Tea, please. Black. A little sugar. Thank you.'

'And some water. Coffee for me, please, Shaz. And bring your notebook.'

'Oh… yes, Ma'am.' She grinned, and vanished, coming back at the double carrying mugs and a glass, her notebook in her teeth.

Gene joined them just as they finished the preliminaries; he nodded to Rajin and leaned against the wall at the back of the room.

Alex began. 'Mr Ispahani, when did you know what Saleh was planning to do this morning?'

'I didn't. Not till it happened.'

'You must have known he had something on his mind.'

'He buried his son yesterday. He was distraught.'

'He didn't talk to you about it?'

'No. We aren't friends. Before our sons were injured, I think I'd only met him once at the school. I got to know him a little because we were so often at the hospital at the same time, but he never wanted to chat. He would sit with Firoz and pray most of the time. He is very intense, very religious.'

'And you're not?'

'I hope we're good Muslims, but our faith is a thread through our daily lives. For Saleh, I think, it drives him. He told me his wife died when Firoz was born, so now, with Firoz dead, Saleh has no-one. Only Allah.'

'So killing Carteret was a religious act?'

'Maybe he believed so. To me, it is an offence against Allah to take a life, to injure another. Islam is a peaceful faith.'

'And you had no prior knowledge of Saleh's intentions.'

'None. I was very shocked, like everyone there. It was terrible. If I had any idea beforehand, I would have tried to stop him. I'd have told you.'

'You'd have told a police officer.'

'Yes. Someone who might have stopped him.'

'Very well. DC Granger, do you have any questions?'

'Yes, Ma'am. Mr. Ispahani…' She spoke his name slowly, careful to get it right. 'Why wouldn't you take revenge on the man responsible for the firebombing?'

'Because my son is alive, and is healing. Because I have a wife I love, and three other children who I want to see grow. Because I believe in the rule of law, and I believe in the mercy of God.'

Shaz looked at Alex and shrugged.

Alex looked back at Gene. 'Guv?'

'No point in detaining Mr Ispahani any further, DI Drake. Thank you, sir, you're free to go. DC Granger will take you back to the custody desk and get you booked out. If you'd like to wait for us by the front desk, we'll only be a few minutes.'

Once he and Alex were alone, he put his arms round her. 'Sam would have been proud, Bolls. By the book.'

'Up to a point, Lord Copper.'

'What?'

'I'm not sure I read the chapter about our meeting with Linden.'

'Ah. Hmm. Useful chapter, that, Bolls. Shame it's ripped out of most editions, eh?'

'Now, listen, my love. Are you going to ask any of the team to the wedding?'

'Dunno. What do you think?'

'Ray and Chris will be very hurt if you don't ask them. They've known you a long time. Especially Ray.'

'But you don't like him.'

'Nor he me. But he worships you. They both do.'

'If we ask them now, most of the Met will know about the wedding by the end of the day. No chance of those gossiping Gertrudes keeping it to themselves.'

'It's only a few days. They'll know soon enough anyway.'

'Ray and Chris, then. What about the others?'

'How about asking them all for a drink when we come back to work?'

'Good idea.'

'Okay if I ask Shaz to the wedding, though?'

'Anyone you like, love.'

'Go on, then. You go and ask Ray and Chris, then tell the others. I'll speak to Shaz. I'll be out front with Rajin.' She checked to make sure no-one was in sight, and grabbed his tie, pulling him to her for a wild kiss, short and wicked; then she pushed him away and swanned out of the door, leaving Gene buzzing.

He went back to CID and called Ray and Chris into his office. _Feels odd, being here. As if it's somewhere I used to work. People I used to know._ It had only been a few days since he'd last been in here, but it felt different. He realised, with a jolt. _It's because I've made up my mind to leave. Because my future's right round the corner. Christ…_ He poured himself a Scotch and threw it down his neck, as it began to dawn on him what he was about to do.

'What's up, Guv?' Ray looked twitchy, as though he wondered whether he was in for another bollocking. Chris followed him in and shut the door.

Gene got to his feet, poured himself another drink and poured two more. 'Bit of news for you. Thought I'd tell you before the rest, as you've been round my neck like a pair of albatrosses for longer than I care to remember.'

He turned to them and pulled himself up to his full height. Looked at the pair of them. Handed them a glass each. Sucked in a deep breath_. Just say it_. 'I'm getting wed on Saturday. I'd like you both to be there. If you're not busy.'

'_Wed?_ Who to?' Ray was thunderstruck. Chris was struck dumb.

'Who do you think, you steaming pillock?' Gene glowered at his sergeant. 'Think before you say anything else, Raymondo. On second thoughts, keep it to yourself.' He turned to Chris. 'Got nothing to say, DC Skelton?'

Chris, who was taking a fortifying gulp of whisky, turned bright red and choked; then stuck his hand out. 'Er, congratulations, Guv. I'm really pleased for you. Wish you and DI Drake every happiness.'

Gene shook his hand. 'Thanks. Thanks, Chris. Appreciate it.'

'Are you really inviting us to the wedding?'

'Yes, Chris, if you'd like to be there.'

'Course I would, Guv. Thank you very much.'

Gene turned his gaze on Ray, lifted an eyebrow, and waited for a response.

'Sorry, Guv. I can see why you'd want to shag her, but _marriage_…?'

Gene didn't wait to hear any more. 'I'll take that as a no, then.' Skewering his sergeant with a glare, he walked back into the main office leaving Chris and Ray to follow him. 'Right. Your attention, gentlemen. And DS Carling. While our private lives are generally just that – private – I thought you should know that Alex Drake and I are getting married on Saturday.' It was suddenly very quiet. 'We'll ask you all for a drink to celebrate sometime next week, but for now it's business as usual. DI Drake and I have to go to Manchester this evening but we'll be back late tomorrow afternoon. Sergeant Lucas, perhaps by then you'll have a summary of what you've been up to since Thursday.'

'Yes, Guv.' Lucas glanced across at Ray, who was clearly sulking. Gene was almost at the double doors when Lucas stopped him. 'Er, Guv?'

Gene stopped and turned back, seeing the shocked faces around the room. 'What, Lucas?'

'Er… it's a bit of a surprise, your news, but I'm sure we're all dead chuffed for you and the Boss. Congratulations, Guv. Good for you.'

There was a ragged little chorus of 'Hear, hear' before someone started the applause; Gene shook Lucas's hand and nodded to his team before leaving the office. He didn't look at Ray. Didn't want to see him abstaining from the team's approval. _Sod him. With that attitude wouldn't want him at our wedding anyway. Bastard._

When Alex told Shaz, the girl squealed and jumped up and down, then flung her arms round her boss, incapable of containing her delight. As Gene emerged from CID, she put both hands on his shoulders, pulled herself up on tiptoe and kissed him soundly, then ran back to CID, giggling.

'That's a yes, then.' Gene gave Alex a half smile.

'What's up? What did they say?'

'Chris is coming. Carling isn't.'

'What?'

'Yeah. Surprised me too.' He went over to Viv and told him that he'd drop Mr Ispahani at the hospital on their way home, then leant over the desk and quietly told him about the wedding. They escaped, leaving Viv open-mouthed; as he got used to the idea, a broad grin spread across his face and stayed there most of the afternoon.

Once at the London, Rajin Ispahani insisted on Gene and Alex meeting his wife and it was half an hour before they got away, by which time it was after four. Gene phoned Ruth from the phone in the foyer to warn her they probably wouldn't be there in time for evening visits. 'We've had a couple of things come up.'

'Don't worry, love. I'll let mum know you'll be there in the morning. Come straight to ours, then, and I'll have dinner waiting for you.' She cut across Gene's polite protest. 'I won't take no for answer. You're staying here. I've got the spare bed made up for you.'

'You know Alex is with me?'

'Yes, you said. Look forward to meeting her.' She gave him directions. 'See you when we see you.'

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They hit a window in the traffic getting out of London and they peeled off the M1 to the M6 by five thirty, and though they had to grind through the evening traffic round Birmingham, they were on the Thelwall Viaduct just after seven.

'Change of plan, Bolls. I'm going to nip in to see Ena before we go to Ruth's. Just so she knows I'm here. Do you mind?'

'Course not, Gene. She'll sleep better for seeing you. So will you.'

They came off the M62 at the Prestwich roundabout and were at North Manchester General in ten minutes. Alex got out of the car to stretch her legs, but let Gene go in on his own. 'She'll be tired. Won't want to meet a stranger tonight. I'll wait here for you.'

Ena Thompson was on the stroke ward, and it took Gene a moment to spot her amongst the still figures. He hated hospitals. Once admitted, you were diminished by the process, reduced to a chart, a list of pills; a patient. Maybe it was an optical illusion, but in a hospital bed even the biggest bloke looked shrunken, washed out, insubstantial. Little Ena, never more than a wisp of a woman, looked no bigger than a doll, and he was reminded bitterly of Firoz. He took a second to pull himself together before he went to Ena's bedside. She was dozing, her right hand on top of the covers. He sat on the edge the bed, took the frail old hand in his and squeezed gently. 'Ena? Ena, love – it's Gene.'

The old woman opened her eyes and turned her head to see her visitor. At the sight of him, she broke into a shaky smile. 'Gene, love…' Her eyes filled with tears. 'You've come…' Her voice was little more than whisper, and a bit slurred, her mouth not moving properly on the left side.

'Course I've come, Ena. Soon as I heard. Come to give you what for. Told you I'd run you in if you weren't good.'

She gave him a rusty chuckle.

'You in any pain, love?'

'No…. just so weak. Left side. Sometimes can't find words. Silly old woman…'

Gene snorted. 'Excuses, excuses. I want you better and out of here toot sweet, Ena.'

Another wonky smile. 'Have you brought your Alex?'

'I've brought an Alex. Don't know if I could claim her as mine.' He smiled. 'Yes, love, she'll be in to see you in the morning.'

'Good. Want to see you happy, Gene. Now Ruth's settled, I want to know you're all right. Where are you staying?'

'With Ruth. She insisted.'

'Don't tease Simon. He's dull, but he's gentle and safe, and he's made her happy.'

'Don't worry, love. I'll be a positive model of chivalry and decorum.'

'That I'd like to see.'

He stayed another five minutes, then left her to sleep.

xxxxxxxxxx

To Alex's astonishment, it was an easy evening, thanks mostly to Simon Goldstone's spectacular collection of single malts. They'd all had a tot of Bruichladdich before supper then the men moved on to Fettercairn and Glencadam with cheese; by the time they'd reached Speyside, Gene had discovered his host to be a lapsed City fan, and the women left them to puff on enormous cigars and get expensively pissed.

'She's great, your Ruth.' It was after midnight, and Alex was wrapped round Gene, one leg between his, her head on his chest, arm round his waist. They always slept naked now, loving the feel of each other's skin, wanting no barriers between them as they slept. The spare bedroom backed on to the garden, and all they could hear was a pair of cats swearing at each other several gardens away, and the occasional comment from a tawny owl. Even quieter than Chisenhale Road.

'She is. Not my Ruth, though. Simon's Ruth. Better for it.'

'Do you really think so?'

'I know so. She's happy. I never made her happy, Bolls.'

'She loved you. Still does. Told me so.'

'Did she? Are you jealous?'

She chuckled. 'Only if you still want her.'

'When I've got you?'

She kissed his chest and felt his hand stroke her hair before she fell asleep.

In the morning, Simon had left before they got up, but Ruth was making breakfast for them. 'Oh, Gene, forgot to tell you last night. I rang Annie Tyler after Dad's funeral. Thanked her for letting you know. Had lunch with her a couple of weeks ago. It was nice to be back in touch.'

He nodded. 'Good for you.'

'Told her you were coming up. She'd really like to see you, if you've got time.'

'We'll see how it goes this morning. Thanks, love.'

'I'd better go. Just slam the door when you leave. No rush.'

Alex pushed back her chair to stand up. 'Ruth, you've been…'

She put a hand on Alex's shoulder to interrupt her. 'Any time. Really – any time you're in Manchester, there's a room here for you. We'd both like to see more of you.' She gave Gene an amused smile. 'Can't believe you and Simon got on so well. He thinks you're a great bloke.'

Gene shrugged. 'He's a man of judgement and good taste, Ruth.' He grunted his approval. 'He's all right. You picked well this time.'

She kissed his cheek and hugged Alex. 'So did you, Gene.'

xxxxxxxxxx

Ena was brighter, sitting up, hair brushed with more colour in her cheeks. Her face lit up when she saw Gene, and she smiled mistily when he ushered Alex ahead of him to the bedside.

'Ena, this is Alex Drake. Alex – Ena Thompson.'

Alex took the outstretched hand, reached down and kissed the old lady's cheek. 'Gene's told me all about you.'

'He hasn't told me nearly enough about you, love.' She looked up at Gene. 'You look in need of a cuppa. Go on, off you go.'

'No, I'm all right…. Oh. Right. I'm to bugger off and let you gossip, eh?' He looked disgruntled, and wagged a finger at Ena, scowling. 'Don't tell her about Mrs Murphy's poodle, you hear me?'

The two women watched him leave, and turned to each other with a smile.

'Mrs Murphy's poodle?'

She cackled. 'Trust me, love, you don't want to know.'

Gene only left them only for long enough to have a fag and buy three cups of tea and a KitKat, not trusting them to give away all his secrets. Alex was proving more of a gossip magnet than he'd realised. _Everyone loves her. How does she do that?_

Ena called to him. 'Come and sit, Gene love.'

As he put the teas down on her bed tray, Alex stood up, so he could sit next to Ena. Standing behind his chair, Alex rested her arms on his shoulders. 'Tell Ena our news, Gene.'

He looked at the old lady. 'Hasn't she told you already?'

'What, love?'

'We're getting married.'

Ena gasped and went quite pink, grabbing Gene's hand tight. 'Oh, lovie, I'm so pleased. Don't leave it too long, will you?'

Alex muffled her laughter against Gene's hair but left him to tell her.

'Saturday too far away, d'you think?'

'_This_ Saturday?' Ena looked shocked.

Alex ran her fingers through Gene's hair. 'Life's too short. We're sure of each other, so why wait?'

Gene twisted his head to look up at her, a smile in his eyes. She bent and kissed him lightly, and he captured her hand, meshing his fingers through hers. He turned back to Ena. 'Second time for both of us, so saw no point in making a fuss. A few people, a few sarnies and a bottle of fizz back at ours, then off for a couple of days.'

'No other reason for the rush? No more news for me?'

Alex chuckled. 'We've only been… er… it's, um… not been long enough for that.'

Ena looked worried. 'Can you be sure, then? Marriage… it's…'

Alex reassured her. 'I think we were in love with each other for months… I was, anyway. It just took us a while to give in to it.'

'First sight, Ena.' Gene muttered, not used to talking about such things. 'Took me a bit longer to realise it was for keeps. Didn't think I stood a chance, though. Not till, what…' He looked up at Alex. '…a month ago?'

Alex moved round to Gene's side and leant against him, her arm over his shoulder; she felt his hand sneak round her waist as she told Ena the story. 'Gene gave me the most extraordinary birthday present.' He squeezed her a bit tighter against him. 'I had to kiss him to say thank you, and…' She shrugged, meeting his gaze as he looked up at her. '…that was that.'

They got lost in each other's gaze for a moment, oblivious to anything else. Ena smiled mistily at the sight of them, but she still had concern on her face. 'Have you had your first row yet?'

Gene barked, hugely amused at the question. 'We spent six months doing nothing but fight. She challenged every bloody thing I said and did; turned my whole life upside down.' He felt Alex press against him; felt her fingers twine through his. 'I, as you know, am the easiest of men, mild of temper and relaxed of manner…' He looked up at Alex, smiling into her eyes. 'She's fiery, moody, bloody-minded, self-opinionated, scared of no-one – certainly not of me. Impossible.' The last word was a soft growl, a spoken caress.

Alex rubbed his shoulder, the promise of retaliation in her smile; she looked back to Ena. 'Yes, we've had some rows since we've been together. Don't imagine we'll ever get through a week without a fight. But I know Gene loves me, and I think he knows how much I love him.' She watched Ena's face, saw her doubts fade. 'Gene told me what you said about your husband. About getting to heaven early. How did you stay so happy for so long?'

Ena's eyes filled with tears. 'We shared everything, good and bad. Never lied to each other, however much it hurt. And my mother told me something on my wedding day that I took to heart. Never let the sun go down on your anger.' She drew Alex close and whispered to her. Whatever she said made Alex giggle, and Gene blushed at the look they gave him. Whatever the canny old bird had said, he'd worm it out of Alex later.

'You've made me very happy. It's the best medicine.' Ena reached a hand out to each of them.

Gene leaned forward and kissed the old lady's cheek. 'Thanks, Ena love.'

Alex took her other hand and kissed her. 'Any chance you'll be well enough to be there on Saturday, Ena?'

'Bless you, darling, but they're like the Gestapo in here. Don't think they'll let me escape so soon.'

'Ruth's coming, so she'll tell you all about it.'

'Ruth's going to your wedding? Oh, Gene, love, that's wonderful. Friends again.'

'All down to her, Ena. She's been…' He struggled to find the words.

Alex chipped in. 'You've both been amazing. Must be very few men so blessed in their mother-in-law and ex-wife.'

'But that's the point, lovie.' Ena squeezed Alex's hand. 'Gene was as good as family before he married Ruth, and he'll always be our Gene. No more in-laws, just family. And now we've got you, too.'

xxxxxxxxxxx

'We're meeting Annie at eleven thirty at the Midland. Just for coffee. She's working at Brutal Street at the moment.' Bootle Street, the divisional HQ for the city centre, was no more than two minutes' walk from the Midland Hotel. 'Okay with you, Bolls?' They'd stopped for a fag break on the way back to the car.

'Yes, of course. I'd love to meet her. But Gene, aren't you going to see your mother?'

'No point. Got nothing to say to her any more, and don't need to hear what she's got to say to me.'

'Have you told her we're getting married?'

'Nope. I'll ring her on Sunday. Or Monday. Sometime'

Alex put a hand on his arm and pulled him to a stop. 'My love, you must. Let's go now, get it over with. You're her son; she'll be devastated if she hears from someone else. Please, honey.'

'She won't like you. She barely likes me. She'll bitch and moan, and none of us will be any the better for it.'

'But she still loves you, even if she can't show it any more. Ten minutes, and it'll stop you feeling guilty.'

He ground the fag end under his heel, blowing out the last lungful of smoke. 'Bolls, she's a sad, bitter old woman and her sister's a vicious old boot. You don't want to know.'

'I do, actually. And it won't kill me if they don't break out the best china. The important thing is that you're kind to your mother, and give her a chance. She might surprise you.'

'She might. Arthur Scargill might whisk Maggie Thatcher off for a dirty weekend in Liverpool. Anything's possible.' He unlocked the car and got in, waiting for her. 'All right, we'll go now. If she's not in, tough luck.'

She was in. Gene disappeared into the bungalow and shut the door after him; Alex sat in the car and waited for her cue. It came soon enough – Gene beckoned to her from the front door, and she followed him in.

Hilda Hunt was not what she'd expected; tall and thin, she'd given her colouring to Gene, but not her severe Nordic features. She didn't smile when Alex came in, and shook her hand without enthusiasm.

'Hello, Mrs Hunt. I'm so pleased to meet you. I'm sorry just to drop in on you without warning…'

'Suppose that was your doing. Gene not planning on seeing me at all, no doubt.'

Alex was completely wrongfooted by her perceptiveness, and floundered for a few seconds. 'It wasn't… er, we… We've been caught up in a complicated case and it's rather taken us over. We've got a meeting later with a police officer in the city centre, but we made better time than…'

'Well, you're here now. Sit down. I'd offer you tea but we're out of milk. Ruby's gone for a pint. If you're still here when she gets back…'

'Please don't worry, Mrs Hunt.' Alex put her head on one side. 'Gosh, your eyes are the same colour as Gene's. You're not really alike – he hasn't got your amazing bone structure – but no-one could mistake that colouring. So unusual. It was one of the first things I noticed about Gene.'

'No need to smarm me, young lady. I'm not the one marrying you, and I don't suppose we'll be meeting that often.' Her level, intelligent gaze dared Alex to argue, but she gave in to soft laughter.

'Was I trying too hard?'

'Just a bit.'

'I'd like us to get on. For Gene's sake, if nothing else.'

'Why? He's not bothered. Are you, son?'

Gene sighed heavily and got to his feet. 'I'm not getting between you two women. I'm going for a fag.'

His mother frowned. 'Since when have you left the house to smoke?'

'Since you've got someone who'll stand up to you. I've no intention of getting hit by a ricochet.' And he was off.

Alex was laughing. 'He didn't tell me he had a Viking for a mother…'

Hilda Hunt huffed with amusement, and the mannerism was so exactly like Gene that Alex was floored for a second.

'Right. Alex, was it? As we've not got long, let's dispense with the small talk, eh?'

When Gene came back in, he found his girl and his mother deep in conversation. 'Come on, Bolly. Got to be at the Midland in fifteen minutes.'

'Bolly? What kind of name's that?'

'Bollinger Knickers, Mrs Hunt. He thought I was an upmarket prostitute when he first met me.' Alex reached for his hand, and he slid an arm round her waist, kissing her hair softly.

He muttered, but loudly enough for his mother to hear. 'You're posh, and you're a tart. Works for me.'

Alex raised her eyebrows in mute apology. Gene's mother broke into laughter. 'Looks like you've met your match at last, son. Good luck to you. Not that you care, but she'll do for me.'

'Of course he cares, Mrs Hunt. I certainly do. Thank you.' She jabbed Gene in the ribs.

'Good of you, Mum. Thanks.' He pulled Alex back a step. 'Got to go, Bolls.'

'Hang on, Gene. Mrs Hunt, I know it's short notice, but we only decided a few days ago. Will you come to our wedding? Please? We'd love you to be there.' She could feel Gene tensing, but ignored him.

His mother flushed. 'No. Thanks, but I'd have to bring Ruby and she'd poison the cake. Never been to London – couldn't come on my own.'

'Ruth's coming; she could bring you.' Alex spoke without thinking.

'Ruth? Thompson? At your wedding?' She stared at her son, dumbfounded.

'Yes, Mum. We've sorted things. Back on good terms.'

She looked at Alex. 'Was this your doing too?'

'No, Mrs Hunt. That was down to Ruth.'

'She trying to get you back, Gene?'

'Hardly, Mum. She's very happy with her second husband.'

'Good god.' His mother looked shattered.

Alex put a hand on her arm. 'Do come. We'll arrange your travel with Ruth and find you somewhere to stay.'

'I don't know…'

'Think about it. Gene or I will ring you tomorrow.'

In the car, heading too fast down Waterloo Road, Gene was quiet, and Alex let him be. It had been a taxing morning, and it wasn't over.

As they waited for the lights to change by Strangeways, he looked over at her. 'I hear that Arthur and Maggie have booked themselves into the Adelphi.'

Alex smiled happily at him. 'You're too alike, you and your mother.'

'You're a bloody witch, that's all I know.'

xxxxxxxxxx

As they headed out of Manchester, Gene foresaw a lot of mileage being piled on to the Quattro's clock as they spent more time in his home town, picking up the threads with family and friends. _And I thought there was nothing left for me here_.

They were on their way back to London after a bitter-sweet meeting with Annie Tyler, talking about Sam and Jaspan, and their imminent wedding. Gene had invited her, but she had three kids with busy weekend timetables, so she said she'd get every last detail out of Ruth. Alex determined to spend more time with her, another psychology graduate struggling with antediluvian attitudes and the thick glass ceiling in the Force. And the widow of a man who committed suicide in 2007 to get back to a woman in 1973. The man who first told her about Gene Hunt. The man responsible for her life here in the 1980s. She and Annie had a lot of talking to do.

They picked over the previous evening. 'What on earth did you and Simon talk about? He's so mousy – couldn't imagine him having anything to say for himself, let alone anything to interest you.'

'He's all right when he gets going. The whisky helped. He's quite an expert. Knows every distillery in Scotland. We ended up talking about Manchester; he's lived here all his life. D'you know, Bolls, we might have lived in different cities. Stuff he was talking about had nothing to do with the city I know. Accountants, bankers, stockbrokers – not a life I ever saw, unless I caught them at Dodgy Dora's getting French lessons. And solicitors. The ones I knew are either the bent bastards working for rich scum, or lefties like the Prices, looking after poofs, Pakis and pinkos…'

Alex giggled. _Maybe not such a radical change_.

Gene looked indignant. 'What? What's so funny?'

'You are, my love. You should hear yourself.'

'What have I said now?'

'I'll tell you later. Go on about Simon.'

Gene shot her a suspicious glare, but carried on. 'The solicitors he knows are all company types…'

'Corporate lawyers.'

'Yeah, them. Million quid this and international tax that. Big fuck-off offices round Spring Gardens. Smoked salmon and claret for lunch, cocktails in the Mayor's parlour. Pro-am golf and charity dinners. The closest they ever get to my world is the Embassy.'

'Which embassy?'

'Bernard Manning's club.'

'Ah.'

'Ever seen the Rochdale Canal?'

'Never been to Rochdale.'

'No… the canal runs right through the centre of Manchester. But below the streets. You can walk from the back of Piccadilly Station to Castlefield and you'd hardly know you were under a city. All you see are rats and what rats feed on. That was my world. Simon lives up in the smart streets and the shiny office blocks. Never sets eyes on a rodent.'

'You _are_ kidding... There are plenty of vermin up there. Rats in tailored suits and old school ties. Remember Markham? For god's sake, Gene – who have we been dealing with since February? The Carterets were bluebloods – couldn't have been much better connected or better educated. It's a person's actions that count, not their CV.' She reached across and flipped Gene's tie, chuckling. 'If I judged a man by his neckwear, I wouldn't be marrying you, for starters…'

'How _dare_ you cast nasturtiums at my taste in ties…' Growling at her, Gene pulled on to the hard shoulder and braked hard, stopping the car too fast for comfort.

xxxxxxxxx

TBC


	35. Happy now

Now this story's racing towards the finish, it's getting harder to write with everything coming to the boil. Wombledon is being brilliant as an uncompromisingly tough beta and is making sure I don't get away with much. Brilliant woman.

xxxxxxxxxxx

_She reached across and flipped Gene's tie, chuckling. 'If I judged a man by his neckwear, I wouldn't be marrying you, for starters…'_

'_How dare you cast nasturtiums at my taste in ties…' Growling at her, Gene pulled on to the hard shoulder and braked hard, stopping the car too fast for comfort_.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Leaving the engine running, Gene jerked the handbrake on and pulled Alex to him, kissing her hard, pushing his hands up under her blouse and unsnapping her bra. Her squawk of surprise was muffled until he freed her mouth to kiss his way down her throat, undoing buttons, licking and nipping at her flesh.

'God, Gene… _Christ_… oh, _god_…' She was overwhelmed, incapable of doing anything but surrendering to his hands and his mouth.

He pushed fabric out of his way and cupped her breast, groaning as his mouth closed over her flesh, sucking, tongue flicking until Alex was mindless with lust. His hand slid down her thigh, scrabbled at her skirt. 'Lift your hips…' He pushed her skirt up; she helped him, eagerly co-operative, panting, desperate for him. She put her hands up to grip the headrest, gasping as he devoured her with hot, open-mouthed kisses while his long, clever fingers sent her into the long spiral, spinning out of control till she bucked and shuddered, then slumped into Gene's arms, panting, mind empty, body floating…

'You okay?' He pushed her hair back from her face.

'_Oh, yes… my love_…' She could only whisper, beyond speech.

He saw something out of the corner of his eye and let her go, sitting up and pulling his coat round his body to hide very evident evidence. '_Shit_. Sort your clothes out. Quick. We've got company.' Gene was watching his mirror as the patrol car pulled up behind them.

Dumped back into reality much too fast for her liking, Alex pulled her skirt down and did up most of the buttons on her blouse, but she couldn't do anything about the flush on her skin or her drugged eyes. She looked, all too obviously, a well-loved woman. She tipped her head back, still tingling and trembling from Gene's express attentions. 'That's what I call motorway services…' She sighed, kissing her fingers and reaching over to press them against his lips; then slid her hand on to his thigh.

She whipped her hand away as the traffic cop tapped on the window; Gene put a finger on the _down_ button, the little motor whining.

'Trouble, sir?' The copper, a middle-aged PC with a Midlands accent, flicked a glance across at Alex before looking at Gene. From the look on the copper's face, Gene guessed he caught the blast of pheromones as the window opened.

'No, officer. All fine, thanks. Just off.'

'Shouldn't stop on the hard shoulder, sir, except in an emergency,'

'I know, constable.' Gene flashed his warrant card. 'Had to take a call.' He nodded at the radio. 'From Special Branch. Turns out this tart here,' he jerked a thumb in Alex's direction, 'is rather better connected that we realised. She's due at Scotland Yard as soon as. Some spooky bastard thinks he's got the key to unlock her, er, secrets.' He wiggled his eyebrows. 'Some people have all the luck, eh, constable?'

The plod swallowed, taking another sneaky peek at Alex's cleavage. 'Er, they do, sir. Indeed you do…'

'Must fly.' Gene shut his window with a final nod to the traffic cop, and slid the car back on to the M6. 'He'll be doing a PNC check now. That's my reputation made in West Mercia.'

'You should have let him watch the return match.'

He looked genuinely shocked. 'Alex…!'

She looked sulky, pouting at him. 'Spoilsport.'

'Listen, Fizzyknickers, flashing your tits at the poor sod's one thing. Me waving my cock at him would be something else entirely. I'll take your IOU. And I will be collecting, or there'll be consequences.'

Alex felt quite weak at the thought of the possible consequences and wondered if she dared try reneging on the debt, just to find out. A small whimper escaped her as her imagination went into overdrive, at much the same time as the car surged forward under Gene's foot.

They drove in silence for a minute before she voiced a concern. 'I need a new image. No-one seems surprised when you introduce me as a working girl.'

'Probably seems the only reason you'd be with the likes of me.'

'Maybe you need a new image, too.'

'Bollocks to that.' He pulled into the fast lane and surged past a Mercedes. They drove in silence for a few minutes before Gene spoke. 'That's why you're marrying me, isn't it?' His flickering glance and the glint of steel in his voice warned her to go carefully.

'What is?'

'For the sex. Because I'm the best lover you've had.'

'Says who?' She was laughing.

'Says you, almost every time.'

'Well, you are. By a long way. You have the assets, the expertise and the dedication. In spades…' She purred as she stroked his thigh. 'But that's not why I'm marrying you.'

'Don't believe you.'

'It's sensational, my love, and I hope we'll still be at it in the queue for the Pearly Gates. But I don't need to _marry_ you for sex, do I?'

'You expect me to shag some loose floozie for the rest of my life?'

'Ahhh… _you're_ marrying _me_ so you can have the moral and legal right to exclusive access… I _see_…'

He didn't pick up on her flippant tone. 'D'you want a row, Alex? Because you're heading in the right direction for one.'

'No, honey, I'm teasing. I'm sorry. Look – Hilton services. Why don't you pull off – we could do with a breather.'

He took the hint, and stopped in the far corner of the car park, away from the handful of cars parked by the building. As soon as the engine died, Alex turned to him, smoky-eyed. 'Time I redeemed my IOU…'

Gene, his eyes black with lust, shifted in his seat. 'Can't get my cock out in a bloody car park, Alex.'

'No horses to frighten, Gene. Anyway, it won't be out. It'll be in my mouth…'

He shut his eyes and groaned, sucking in breath sharply as she stroked him; slowly she undid his belt buckle and slid his flies open. One hand went to his neck, pulling his head to hers, tracing his lips with her tongue, sliding it into his mouth as her other hand played with his cock, stroking and squeezing until he jerked his head out of her reach. 'Alex… _please_…'

She smiled, sultry, wicked, and bent to her task as he watched her, drunk with pleasure, as with hands and lips and tongue she drove him to the brink before pulling away, tormenting him. 'No, don't… don't stop… _please_, Alex, can't…' He put both hands to her head, guided her down, grunted in frustration as she teased him for a few seconds, then curled his fingers into her hair as she relented and drove him to the edge and over, groaning her name, mindless with ecstasy, all but unconscious for a few seconds.

He opened his eyes to see her smiling at him, felt her fingers stroke along his jaw. He smiled into her eyes, cupped her face, laughed a little shakily. 'Amazing… you… Alex. Love...'

She kissed him softly, then grabbed her bag and opened her door. 'Won't be long.' True to her word, she was back in ten minutes with a carrier bag.

Gene was perched against the car bonnet, smoking. As she approached, he had one last drag, dropped the cigarette on the tarmac and trod on it. 'What you got there, Bolls? Hope I can eat it, whatever it is. Starving.'

She fished out two styrofoam cups with lids. 'They claim it's tea, but I wouldn't swear to it.' Pulling out two sandwiches, she waved them vaguely. 'Ham or cheese. Not exciting, but it'll fill a hole.'

He looked at her through his eyelashes. 'I've had all the excitement my heart will stand for the moment, Mata Hari. As for filling a hole, can't you wait till I get you home?'

She chuckled and slid her arms round his neck, kissing his mouth, tasting smoke and desire. 'As long as that's a promise.'

Back on the motorway, Gene was driving with one hand on the wheel and the other on Alex's thigh, her hand on his, thumb stroking his wrist. There were things to discuss, but neither wanted to risk the mood by bringing up contentious subjects; so they talked about the cat, about plans for the house, about past holidays…

'I'd love to go back to Greece, Gene. Have you ever been?

'No closer than Aphrodite's kebab shop in Roman Road.'

'Can I take you this summer?'

Gene screwed up his face, not knowing how to answer. 'Sort of depends on…'

The radio squawked. 'DCI Hunt? Brian Cruickshank.'

Alex grabbed it from its housing. 'Yes, sir. DI Drake. DCI Hunt's with me.' _Never know who's listening_. Why else would he use Gene's title?

'Of course he is. Where are you?'

'On the M6, just about to hit the M1.'

'Okay. Go and find a phone; call me on the usual number.'

They pulled off at Corley Services and rang, heads together so they could both hear Cruickshank's news.

'Thought you'd like to know. We've found Grenville.'

She and Gene swapped glances. 'Have you got him? Where is he?'

'Somewhere on the A38 on his way back here. In a meat wagon.'

'Dead?'

'Very.'

'What… where?'

'Bit odd. He was found on the edge of Wistman's Wood on Dartmoor. Like something out of the Hound of the Baskervilles. Throat ripped out.'

'Christ…' Gene muttered. 'By what?'

'No idea; the local pathologist refused to offer any theories. The ground was churned up around the body, hoofprints and pawprints. Time of death sometime before dawn this morning. His body was wet with dew.'

'Local toffs mistake him for a fox?'

'Maybe not as much of a joke as you'd think. Gene. Devon CID are getting a lot of dark mutterings about a local legend. They say it's Drake's revenge. Something to do with the Wild Hunt. Know anything about it?'

'I get a bit irritable sometimes, but...'

'Thank you, Gene. Ideas, Alex?'

'Rings a bell. Herne the Hunter? Riders and hounds chasing wrongdoers to hell… Or chasing a goddess. Something like that.'

Gene was thinking aloud. 'Drake's revenge… Grenville's got some family connection to Drake.'

Alex chipped in. 'I saw Drake's Drum once on a school trip. Buckland Abbey. Isn't that near Dartmoor?'

'Yes, to both. Keep going.'

'Grenville had some heavy duty connections. You know who they are, presumably.'

'We do, Gene, yes.'

'They're the tally-ho type, that lot. Riding to hounds. Could have got rid of him and made it look like Sir Francis Drake came to get his own back with these hunters and a big hungry dog. Superstitious locals – they'd lap it up. Like something out of a Denis Wheatley book.'

'We're thinking along much the same lines, Gene. Does the name Menna Williams mean anything to you?'

It did to Alex. 'She was with Harry Haggerty when I first met him. She was supposed to be a Greenham Common protester, but then she rocked up at the Essex safe house. DCI Clark introduced her as DI Williams so I assumed she was Special Branch.'

'Not Branch, Alex. MI5. After you last saw her, she dropped out of sight. Vanished. Until today. We found her too – on Grenville's boat.'

'Same as Grenville?'

'No. Shot – we're waiting for the ballistics report, but almost certainly with the Browning semi-automatic found lying beside the body. Standard army issue. Same as Miranda Carteret had on Friday.'

'Suicide?'

'No. Hands tied, shot in the back of the head. Classic execution. The timing is interesting. Tomorrow there's a press conference called by the New National Front, the British Movement and the British Democratic Party; word is they going to form a new party. Word is also that Grenville was due to be a big part of it.'

'Ah. Shame.'

'I can tell you're cut up about it, Gene.'

'Devastated, Brian. Alex too. Thanks for keeping us in the loop.'

'Sleep well.' Cruickshank was gone.

Back at the car, Gene opened the door for Alex. 'Well. Bugger me sideways. They play rough, those toffs.'

'Don't they just. That's what public school does for you.

He scoffed. 'Public school of hard knocks, eh?'

'Ever seen the Eton Wall Game?'

'Nope. Anything like the the Heaton Park game? Grab your oppo by the neck and run him into the nearest slab of concrete?

'Sort of thing. If you've trodden on his head first.'

Gene considered this new angle on the English ruling class. _Maybe not so different to the rest of us, at that._

Alex chuckled to herself. 'I must introduce you to Nigel Molesworth.'

'Who?'

'The hero of St Custard's.'

'You're off again, Loopy Lou.'

Back on the road, Alex smiled grimly. 'I like the thought of Francis Drake coming for Grenville. Very poetic.'

'You're not related, are you, Bolls?'

'To Francis Drake? No... My ex-husband's the Drake and his family's from Kansas; not much of a seafaring tradition there.'

'Pity. Quite fancy you as the goddess of the hunt. You're Goddess of this Hunt, anyway.'

'Gene, you old romantic, you…'

'Make the most of it, Bollykecks. Marriage sorts all that nonsense out.' He gave her a slow smile, and put his hand back on her thigh.

xxxxxxxxx

They reached Fenchurch East just after five, and found CID deserted. 'Lazy bastards.'

'Beer o'clock, Gene. They'll be over the road.'

A cheer went up when they walked into Luigi's, and they were swamped with good wishes from all quarters but one. Ray tried to leave unnoticed, but couldn't get past Alex and Gene without acknowledging them.

'Guv. Inspector.'

'Aren't you going to have a drink with us?' Alex put a hand on his arm.

Ray sidestepped her. 'Bird waiting.'

Gene said nothing, but scowled as he watched the sullen sergeant leave the bar.

'La bella signorina! and Signore Hunt…' Luigi was there, arms spread in expansive affection, tears in his eyes. 'Such wonderful…' Lost for words, he embraced Alex, then kissed her hands in a rush of emotion. Now completely overcome, he kissed Gene on both cheeks and shook his hand with such zest that Gene wondered if he'd still have it on the end of his arm when the Italian was done.

Finally, Luigi was forced to go and serve customers. 'Gene…' Alex tugged at his sleeve. 'You've got about three seconds to decide if we're going to be here all night, or skipping off home.'

Gene looked at her, suddenly remembering there was a hole to be filled. 'Home, Bolls. Fancy a noisy night in. Just you and me.' He put his mouth close to her ear. 'Moaning and screaming.'

'Panting and groaning?'

'Let's go.'

Despite the protests, they left to a chorus of whistles and catcalls, and drove home via the Chinese takeaway, and the corner shop for breakfast and catfood.

'God… I feel like I've been away for a month.' Gene collapsed on the sofa, limbs sprawled, the cat jumping all over him.

'Do you want to eat now?' Alex called from the kitchen, unloading the takeaway and putting the milk in the fridge. 'Or we can warm it up later. Up to you, honey.'

He lit up and took a first calming drag. 'Later, then. I fancy a long, hot bath followed by a long, hot shag.'

'We could combine the two.'

'Temptress.'

'Thought I was a goddess?'

'Tempting goddess.'

'I'll run a bath.'

She kicked off her shoes and sashayed towards the stairs, peeling off her jacket as she went, dropping it on the bottom step. Her top came off next and slid down the banisters to hang in a silky fall, and as Gene watched her climb out of sight, her skirt fell and draped itself down a couple of steps. He followed her in his mind's eye as he smoked. Imagined her body – still in underwear, or naked? – as she bent over the bath, reached for the bath oil, stretched up to get clean towels from the airing cupboard… He stubbed the fag out, got to his feet and headed for the stairs.

In their bedroom, Alex was naked except for a towel that barely reached from bust to hip; she knew Gene loved to find her not quite naked, loved to remove the last piece of fabric from her body. She shivered as she thought of his hands reaching for her, his eyes alight with love for her. Waited for him to come through the door, see his face, watch him rip off clothing as he came towards her...

But he didn't appear. Having a sneaky fag first, maybe. She went to the bathroom and turned the taps off, stood breathing in the scented steam until her skin was damp. _Where's he got to?_ The wait was beginning to spoil the moment.

'Gene? You coming up?'

No answer. Disconcerted, she went out to the stairs. Saw him sitting near the bottom, hunched over. 'Gene? Love? Is something wrong? You feeling okay?' She went down to him, put a hand on his shoulder. Froze when she saw what he had in his hand.

'Care to tell me about this?' He sounded as though he were interviewing a suspect.

She went down another couple of steps, tried to take the piece of paper from him, but he jerked his hand away, keeping the note out of her reach.

She shrugged. 'It's just a stupid note.'

'A stupid note.' He repeated her words slowly. 'The last time you got one of these, you went apeshit. Yelling and screaming and running out, locking yourself in the flat, driving us both nuts. But this one's _just a stupid note_.' He looked at her, finally. A flat stare, challenging her to lie. His face was shuttered, cold.

Alex shivered. Wrapped her arms round her body, leaned against the wall. Couldn't look at him. Didn't want to hear anything more; but he was silent. She looked at the paper in his hand. 'I was going to tell you.'

'Oh, that's nice to know. When was this scheduled to take place, Alex?' He spoke quietly, calmly. It scared her.

'I'd made up my mind to tell you tonight. After what Ena said.'

'Uh-huh. What was that then? About _sharing_? The bit about not _lying_? Pricked your conscience, did it?'

'Yes. But I'd wanted you to have some peace. Wanted to protect you from…'

'_Protect…_ _me?' _He surged to his feet, loomed over her, eyes blazing. 'From _what?_'

She stumbled down the last couple of steps, backing away from him, not prepared for this fury.

He took a step down towards her, his face creased in bitter rage, fist clenched round Layton's note. 'You think I'm a child to be kept in cotton wool? Hmm? Think I need soft words and soft smiles from mummy? Think again, Alex. Kids need kindness, they need to be listened to. But more than anything, they need the truth. People never tell kids the truth. They pretend that everything's all right when it's not. They think they're shielding the poor little sods from the harshness of life. But guess what? The shit hits them anyway, and because no-one's told them the truth, the kids think it's their fault. Or maybe that they're not big or clever or important enough to be included in whatever bastard battle is being fought over their heads. After a while they think that maybe being in the shit is where they belong. And they end up fighting every fucker's battles for them to make up for not doing enough when it mattered. When they should have saved their own…'

He bit down on his words, hissing. 'And guess what else. That doesn't change when you grow up. You're brave, Alex, and I've been proud to have you standing at my shoulder in a fight. But I will _never_ allow you to shelter me behind your skirts.'

'I wasn't trying to protect you from _Layton_…'

'What, then, for fuck's sake?'

'You'd had to deal with so much. I wanted you to have one normal weekend without some lunatic threatening us. I didn't want to load more worries on your shoulders.'

'So you thought you'd martyr yourself for my sake, hmm? Swallow down the fear so I could have a nice weekend? That's _ludicrous_.'

'I wasn't going to be alone. Wasn't in any danger. Was going to get the team back on Layton's trail on Monday without a big fuss.'

'Who were you going to tell about this?' He waved the note in her face. 'Ray?'

'No.'

'No. Because you knew Ray, being loyal, would tell me. Who then… Cruickshank.' He sounded suddenly sure. 'You were going to tell Cruickshank. Weren't you?'

'I thought about it.'

'I thought you trusted _me_.'

'I _do_. I trust you with my life.'

Gene scoffed at her. 'Clearly. Which is why you chose not to bother me with a _stupid little note_. When did you get it?'

She sighed. 'Friday night. Luigi gave it to me but I didn't open it at first. Remembered it in the car going home.'

He laughed in disbelief. 'So you had three senior police officers with you and you thought you'd shelter us all from this upsetting news?'

'You were all pissed. No point in telling you then. And the next morning… I just couldn't.'

'You just couldn't.' He repeated her words with scorn. 'I see. Setting aside the matter of your personal safety for a moment, did it occur to you, Detective Inspector, that this was _evidence_?' He was yelling at her now. 'Arthur Layton's a murder suspect, and wanted for attempted child abduction, or had you forgotten? Evidence – a concept I thought you were quite fond of – which is now _four days_ old and of fuck-all use to us.' He was steaming; the rage was scalding her. 'Now we'll have to wait till Layton sends us an engraved invitation to afternoon tea or strolls in for a chat with Viv about Botham's fucking _batting averages!_ I could arrest you for suppressing evidence, for obstructing the course of justice…'

'_Go on then_.' Stung into anger, Alex reached round Gene and snatched her top from where it hung on the banister rail, then grabbed her skirt as she stamped back upstairs with Gene on her heels. 'Put me in the cells and not only will I be safe from Layton but I won't have to listen to you shouting. _Perfect_.' She marched into their bedroom and flung the door shut in his face.

He flung it back on its hinges, taking a chunk out of the plaster as the handle slammed into the wall. 'I demand the truth from my team, and I thought I could rely on it from a woman I wanted as my wife.'

She ripped the towel from her body and flung it on the floor. 'I didn't lie to you. I just didn't tell you.' She started to drag on clean bra and pants.

'You deceived me.'

She whipped round like a furious cat, hair flying, eyes flashing. 'So did you _deceive_ me when you chose not to tell me about quitting the Force? About ending your whole bloody career? About setting up some crazy business with a man you've known for four weeks?'

'That's completely different!'

Alex snatched clothes from hangers, leaving them rattling. 'Oh, of _course_ it is.'

'Yes. It is.' He snarled at her, grabbing the clothes from her hands and hurling them on to the bed behind him.

'Naturally. You're a man. And I'm only the little woman, so it's none of my business…' She spat the words at him.

'Just like a bloody woman, incapable of thinking straight. Every fucking decision stinks of oestrogen.'

She stopped, then. Stood in front of him straight as an Amazon, half naked, fingers curling and uncurling, skin flushed and eyes black with anger. Gene felt his whole body catch fire. Wanted her fiercely. Took a step towards her.

She turned her head away, moved round him and picked her trousers up off the bed, stepping into them. She might as well have slapped him; would have been easier if she had. He could have reacted. Pulled her close. Stopped the row with kisses. But she'd pulled away from his touch, held him away with angry silence. His rage turned in on him and died, chilling him to the bone. 'Bolls…'

She didn't hear the misery in his voice, still furious, still turned away from him. 'No, no, bully for you. I'm delighted you can be so cool about everything.' She pulled on a t-shirt over her head. 'Can shove everything neatly into pigeon holes. Turn your emotions on and off.' She sat on the bed, pulling on socks. 'Well, guess what, genius… I can't. That much malice, that kind of violence turned on us feels a bit _personal_, to me. Seeing you in agony; keeping it all locked inside you…' She dashed her hand across her eyes, then got up to fetch her boots. 'I can't shut it away in some convenient box in my head like you say you can. I've failed to cope with it all. Failed to stay professional. So, hey…' She held her arms out wide in surrender. '_I_ _fucked up_. I made a bad mistake, _Guv_. I'm really sorry.' She sat down abruptly. 'I've been so confused; in love with you, so happy one minute, and the next…' She put her elbows on her knees, dropped her head so he couldn't see her face.

'It's turned me inside out.' Gene's voice was flat, so quiet she could barely hear him. 'I don't know what I feel about any of it.' He went to the window, stared out at the cherry blossom under the street lights, reflected in the still water of the canal. 'I love you, Alex. You can pull me out of hell and into heaven with one touch. You reach into my past and turn it inside out with a flick of your wrist. But this morning… sometimes it terrifies me, how fast you're changing my life. And now this. I'm not sure I can…'

Alex wiped her eyes and looked round at him. Saw him with hands and forehead against the glass, his back to her. 'If you can what – forgive me? Or go through with the wedding?' He didn't answer. 'Gene?'

'I don't know.'

'You set the date.'

'Yeah.'

'I agreed to keeing it quiet. No fuss. What you wanted.'

'But it's not going to be quiet, is it, with you inviting everybody you meet.'

'_What?_'

'It was going to be us and a few close friends. Then you're scattering invitations like the confetti we're not going to have. Or do you want that, now?'

'Hang on a little tiny minute. I've asked _one_ person who's _my_ friend. Shaz. Everyone else there is going to be _your_ family or _your_ mates, or our joint friends. You asked Dorney, for fuck's sake! Then you asked an entire family we only met yesterday. You invited your _ex-wife_. And you're angry because I asked your _mother_ and the widow of your best friend?'

'Sam was my friend, not so much Annie. You could see that this morning. We're friends because of Sam, but we're not close. I didn't ask my mother because we don't get on. You saw that too. And you said you wanted Mirza there.'

'I do. I was really pleased when he said you'd invited him. And his dad. But now all the kids and his mum too?

'Well, uninvite them, then.'

'Don't be stupid. I'm happy to have a party. It's our wedding, for god's sake. I _want_ our friends there to celebrate with us. And you're bloody lucky to _have_ family. Why not make the most of it?'

He snorted. 'Oh, here we go. So you do want the whole sodding kaboodle.'

'What – fifteen people at this house for a drink and half a pork pie, or whatever we end up getting from Sainsbury's on Friday night? It's not exactly the Guards' Chapel and Cadogan Square, is it? No cake, no speeches, no bloody honeymoon.'

'You said you didn't want all that! You agreed we were as good as married so we didn't need a big fuss.'

'_You_ said it, and I didn't argue. I don't _need_ any of it. All I _need_ is _you_, you idiot. But it would have been nice to have something that made it a wedding and not just a bit of paperwork.'

'For Christ's sake… why didn't you say so, then?'

'Because I was so staggered that you wanted to get married that I'd have agreed to getting hitched on a North Sea trawler if you'd wanted.'

Gene turned back to her, half a smile on his face. He saw Alex pushing a piece of clothing into a stuffed holdall and the smile vanished. 'What the fuck are you doing?'

'Getting out of your hair.'

'What are you talking about?'

'You've made no promises. Signed nothing. Now's the time to think very hard about what you want. You can't do that while I'm here.'

'You're _not_ walking out on me.' He strode over to her, took her wrist in a tight grip.

She met his fierce glare with a wry smile. 'No, Gene. Of course I'm not.' She pulled her arm away gently, touching his face briefly before going into the bathroom, collecting essentials. 'I'm staying somewhere else for a couple of nights, not leaving you. I'm bound to you for as long as I live but I don't want you feeling you've got to go through with it if you're not ready. I'll be at the registry office on Saturday morning if you still want me there. You can set another date, you can cancel altogether. I can continue to live here, or I can move back out…' Her voice wobbled and she turned her head away, not wanting him to see her cry. 'Whatever you want. Just please don't say you don't want us to split up altogether.'

Gene was speechless. He sat on the bed, looking through the holdall, seeing what she was taking. Alex pushed his hands away, stuffed in the bathroom things and zipped the bag shut.

He looked dazed. 'Am I missing something? What's going on?'

She moved the bag and sat down beside him. Took his hand.

'You need to think about the years ahead of being married, Gene. If we do marry, then it'll be as equal partners. I won't be like Ruth, waiting at home and turning a blind eye. Decisions that affect us both will be made by us both. I don't expect us to do everything together. I'm not going to smother you… or mother you. We'll fight a lot, but if we do what you said…' She smiled at him and stroked his hand. '… be kind to each other, and listen, and tell the truth, we'll work it out. It's going to be hard for you to learn to live in a partnership. For me, too. I'm used to being in control and it's hard to let go. If you change your mind I wouldn't blame you.'

He looked away, chewing his lip. 'I know what I want. But okay. If you insist, I'll think.'

'I'll see you in the morning.' She squeezed his hand and stood up. 'I'll miss you.' She picked up the holdall.

He put a hand on her waist. 'Where are you going?'

'Luigi's. He's let my flat but the top floor's still empty.'

'There's no furniture in it.'

'There's a futon. That's all I need.'

'This is madness. I don't want you to go.' He looked up at her, reached for her, pulled her closer. 'Bolls…'

She looked into his eyes, and her tears spilled over. She put her fingers beneath his jaw, lifted his chin, bent and touched her mouth to his, her hair falling against his face; he pushed his hands under her t-shirt, his fingers spreading over her back, hot against her cool skin. Suddenly they both caught fire, desperate to wipe out the misery and anger of the last half hour. Clothes discarded, they made amends with frenzied kisses, hands and mouths on naked flesh; no words, only sounds of pleasure and passion, driving each other to the point of oblivion, joined in such intense sweetness that they dropped into sleep within moments, wrapped in each other, heart to heart.

xxxxxxxxxxx

When she woke, Alex didn't want to move. _This_ was home, wherever he was. Whenever. But she knew he had to go into this marriage as a free, sober choice. She was scared that when the shine wore off and times got tough, he'd begin to feel trapped; that marriage would feel like a cage to a big cat. And if he felt that she'd locked him in by making him marry too soon…

She kissed him, featherlight, and slid carefully away from him; picked up her clothes, grabbed the holdall and her boots, and crept out of the bedroom, leaving him sleeping.

She dressed in the kitchen with a curious cat for an audience, fed him so he wouldn't scream in Gene's ear, and scribbled a short note, using the Whiskas as a paperweight.

The door closed behind her with a clunk, and she turned to the right. _Taxi… best place… Grove Road_. Part of her expected Gene to drive over to Scarborough Street when he woke up. Demand to be let in. Drag her home. Or drag her into bed. She smiled at the thought. Smiled at herself for half hoping he would, for wanting to give in to his Cro-Magnon instincts. _Gene_.

'Hello.'

A shadow at her shoulder. _That voice. London voice. Oh god_…

Before she could scream, an arm clamped her against a wiry body; a hand over her face. 'Relax, Alex. Going to make you happy.'

Sweet smell. Damp fabric against her mouth and nose. Can't breathe…

_God… Gene…_

The dark invaded. Overwhelmed her.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

TBC


	36. Killing time

_As ever, my thanks to wonderful beta Wombledon._

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Something woke Gene. 'Bolls?' The bed was empty beside him. He looked at the clock: just after nine. Dark. 'Bolly?' He called louder. The cat galloped into the room and took a flying leap on to the bed, purring loudly. 'Where is she, Dino?'

He got out of bed and dragged on jeans and jersey, went to the front window and flung up the sash so he could lean out. The street was quiet; everyone at home watching the box. A van going south down Zealand Street passed Lou Penfold walking home. Gene shut the window, found his boots and went downstairs; went into the street but could see no sign of Alex. Went down to the kitchen; there was a note stuck under the Whiskas tin.

'_See you in the morning. Love you very much. A xxx'_

Gene scrunched up the note and flung it at the wall. Snarled at no-one. '_Dammit_, Alex. I thought we'd got past that…'

The doorbell went. It was Lou. 'Hello, Mr Hunt. Is this Alex's? It was on the pavement.'

_Shit_. He snatched it, pulled the zip open and saw Alex's stuff. His guts clenched; for an instant the fear made him weak as milk. 'Where was it, Lou? Show me.'

The girl pointed at the pavement in front of No 83, where the hedge was eight feet high. 'Just there. On its side, like it'd been dropped.

'Did you notice the van that passed you in Zealand Street?'

She put her head on one side, chewing her lip. 'No, sorry. Listening.' She indicated her Walkman.

'Think, Lou. It was a white van.'

She thought again. 'I do vaguely remember something going down the road, but I didn't take any notice. Sorry. Is it important?'

'Yes, I'm afraid it could be. But thanks, love.'

The girl watched him run back into the house; she fished out her key and let herself into No.85, wondering what was going on _chez_ Hunt.

For the first time in his life, Gene rang 999; he needed the fastest possible response, and Bethnal Green nick was a hell of a lot closer than Fenchurch East. He steamrollered over the telephonist's preamble. 'This is DCI Hunt from Fenchurch East, love. I've strong reason to suspect that my wife has been violently abducted. Put me through to whoever's in charge of CID.'

To her credit, the plonk on phone duty put Gene straight through to a DS Rosen; having got the gist, he wasted no time. 'We'll be there in five minutes, sir.'

But two minutes before Rosen arrived, a squad car turned up with blue lights flashing, disgorging two PCs who banged on the door of No 82. Gene was in the Quattro with the driver's door open, on the radio to Fenchurch East. 'Send someone over to Luigi's, Viv. Roust out any CID in there and get them back into the station. Who's the uniform on duty?'

'Inspector Minnion, Guv.'

'Right. Warn him we're going to need some manpower. 'I'm going to talk to the local plods, then I'm coming straight in. Let Dorney know.'

He was out of the car and across the road at the door of No 82 as a car turned into the far end of the street, lights blazing, and scorched up them, skidding to a halt by the Quattro. A thickset balding man jumped out and met Gene in the road. 'DCI Hunt?'

'Rosen?'

The DS spoke to the plod who came to the door. 'What's going on, Swash?'

'Report of a struggle, sarge. Lady here says she saw a man and a woman fighting and then driving off.'

Gene pushed ahead of the other two, into the house; a middle-aged woman Gene didn't know was in a wheelchair by the window, with the other plod sitting opposite her. Rosen introduced himself and Gene to the householder, and nodded at the young copper for his report.

'Just after nine o'clock, Mrs Finch noticed a woman leaving a house over the road, and then a man stepped out from a nearby house…'

Gene couldn't stand any more. 'Scuse me, love. Don't think we've met but it was my wife you saw.'

'Yeah, I seen you before.' Mrs Finch had a strong North London accent and was clear and confident.

'Tell us what you saw, love.'

'Pretty, your missus, i'n't she?'

Gene nodded, his jaw clenched tight.

'She came out your 'ouse with a bag in her 'and, and walked that way.' She gestured to the left. 'She got to No.83 and a man stepped out from behind the big 'edge.'

'Can you describe him?'

'About the same height as 'er. Skinny. Long scruffy 'air. Dark clothes.'

'Did he look English?'

'White, you mean? Yeah.'

'Then what?' Gene urged her.

'She jumped. Look scared, you know. Dropped the bag when he grabbed 'er and put a hand over 'er face. She didn't scream or nuffin. She struggled a bit, then she stopped. Fink she might 'ave fainted. He opened the door of 'is van and put 'er in it.'

'In the passenger seat, or the back?'

'Back. I couldn't see that bit cos the door was in the way.'

'What was the van like?'

'Er, not big. Like an estate car.'

'Escort van?'

'Yeah, suppose so. It was white, but it 'ad a picture of a boat on it.' She rubbed her forehead, trying to remember. 'Like a… er… fishin' boat. Big one, like, not for fun.'

'Trawler?' Rosen offered.

'Yeah, exactly.'

'Could you see the number plate, love?'

'Nah. Van was side on to me, see?'

'What happened after that?'

'Man got in, switched the lights on and drove off. Turned down 'ere.' She jerked her thumb to show them the direction.

'Down Zealand Street.'

'Yeah.' She looked at Gene. 'Then I saw you shove your 'ead through the window. Then I called you lot.' She poked her head at the two PCs.

Gene nodded to her. 'Thanks, love. You've been very helpful.'

He looked at Rosen, and the two of them went to the front door.

'My wife's name is Alex Drake. She's a DI at Fenchurch East; I'm going down there now. Man's almost certainly a murdering bastard called Arthur Layton. He's threatened her before. Put a call out for the van, will you? I'd guess he'll go towards the river, but it's only a guess. And get those plods to do a door-to-door. See if they can get the reg plate. It was a white Ford Escort van – I saw it going south down Zealand but it was too far away for me to read.'

'Will do, sir. Good luck.'

Gene clapped Rosen on the shoulder and ran back to the Quattro; reversing so fast the tyres smoked, he turned, skidding, and raced off down Zealand Street, putting the blue light on the roof.

Grabbing the radio he called in to Fenchurch East. 'Got anything for me, Viv?'

'Ray and Lucas are back in, Guv, with DCs Granger, Skelton and Duffy. Jimmy Kingston's on his way back in – he heard the call go out just now. Most of Carol's relief has come back in, volunteering to help search. Chief Superintendent Dorney has spoken to Inspector Minnion and sanctioned whatever overtime's required. He's asked to be kept fully informed. Said he'd come in if needs be. Everyone's on side, Guv.'

'Thanks, Viv. Thanks.' Gene was speeding down Roman Road, headlights on full beam, braking sharply and flicking on the siren to crash the lights on to Cambridge Heath Road, swerving to avoid a Young's Brewery lorry. 'Be there in about ten minutes…' He snarled at a dozy Fiesta driver in his way and flicked the siren on again. '…if the _halfwits_ stay off the fucking_ road_.'

He radioed through to Scotland Yard, chasing Cruickshank; found him in his car, on his way to Scarborough Street. 'Why didn't you call me earlier, Gene?'

'Getting things moving, sir.'

'When did this happen?'

'A few minutes past nine.' He looked at the clock. Twenty eight minutes past.

'All right. Bring me up to date.'

Nine minutes later, the Quattro skidded to a halt outside the station. There were uniforms climbing into three riot vans, and a knot of off duty plods standing around waiting. Gene leapt up the steps and ran inside.

'Guv! Just had a call in from Bow. Van's been spotted.'

'Where, Viv?'

'The A12 southbound; Blackwall Tunnel Approach. Patrol car was heading north; noticed a van speeding. Left it because they couldn't turn round. But it was fifteen minutes ago. Remembered the boat on the side of the van when the call went out.'

'Fifteen minutes? Shit. New call gone out?'

'Yes, Guv.'

Cruickshank pushed through the door, grim-faced. 'DCI Hunt. A word.' Not waiting for an answer, he thumped the double doors open and marched straight through, waiting for Gene outside the interview room and ushering him inside. Gene looked at him, perplexed.

Cruickshank was unsmiling, tense, cold-eyed. 'How the fuck did you let this happen?'

'Come again? What do you mean, "let this happen"?'

'You knew this Layton character was still out there. I've been checking up, Gene. You've been lax. And you've put Alex in extreme danger.'

'_Lax?' _He was gobsmacked_._ _'I've_ put her in danger?'

'Where were you when she was abducted?'

'I thought I'd changed her mind.'

'About what?'

'About leaving the house.'

'Why?'

'None of your bloody business. _Sir_. Alex Drake's an adult. She's not a prisoner in my house, she's my wife.'

'Not yet, she isn't.'

'_What_ did you say?'

'I'll ask you again, DCI Hunt. Where were you?'

'All right, you interfering bastard. If you insist on knowing, we'd had spectacularly good sex, and I was asleep. I woke when she left the house.'

'So she sneaked out of your bed, left your house, and was attacked and abducted under your fucking nose…' Cruickshank was shaking with fury, fists clenched.

'_Yes_. How do you think that makes me feel?' Gene snarled at the Branch boss. 'Now if you don't mind, I'm going to find her.' He made for the door.

'I'm taking charge of this investigation, DCI Hunt. I suggest you go home and wait for news.'

'_What?_ How _dare_ you? Who the _fuck_ do you think you are?'

'Your superior officer, Hunt. Your judgement is impaired. Go home.'

'Fuck off. You don't know the ground, you don't know the suspect, and you don't know the officers here. And I'd say your judgement is not exactly _dispassionate_.'

Cruickshank took a step closer, looming over Gene. Shoved him in the chest, growling. 'If you can't even keep her safe, you don't bloody deserve her.'

Without warning, Gene lashed out with an uppercut that sent Cruickshank crashing to the floor. Gene stood over him, fists still clenched. 'I may not deserve her, but I've got her. Now fuck off back to Tinsel Town, and stay out of my private business.'

He turned and opened the door, glaring at Cruickshank as he got to his feet.

'That's insubordination, gross misconduct and assault. You're screwed, DCI Hunt.' Cruickshank put a hand to the door and slammed it shut, grabbing Gene's lapels and spinning him round. His jab to the solar plexus was followed immediately with a cross to the jaw, and Gene was thrown against the wall, losing his footing and falling to the floor. Cruickshank was breathing heavily, adrenalin spent.

Gene was sitting against the wall, a hand rubbing his bruised body. He looked at up at Cruickshank. 'Feel better for that, do you?'

'No. Now I just feel stupid as well as everything else. I haven't lost my temper since my first week in the Force…'

'We're wasting time.' Gene winced as he started to get to his feet.

Cruickshank stuck his hand out insistently. After a second, Gene clasped his arm, allowing Cruickshank to haul him to his feet. They glared at each for a moment before Gene nodded, putting a full stop to it.

In CID, the team was standing around, waiting. Gene cannoned through the doors with the Branch boss on his heels. 'Right. Chief Superintendent Cruickshank has very generously come over from the Yard to lend us a hand.' Only Cruickshank recognised the irony. With a hint of a bow, Gene continued. 'Perhaps, sir, you'd be good enough to light the blue touch paper under Wapping. Layton's a water rat; the river police can get at places we can't.'

Cruickshank nodded, and went to the phone in Gene's office.

Gene pulled the team's attention back to him. 'Concentrate. I haven't got time to say this twice. Layton's van was spotted on the Blackwall Tunnel Approach. Layton's junk yard is in Shadwell, but it's a bit obvious, and a bit close to us here. He had one boat moored at Leamouth that we know of. I'd say it was a stronger possibility that he'll have gone there. It's somewhere to start, in any case, and stops me growing ulcers waiting here.' He sent them all on their way with a sweep of his arms. 'Vamos.'

The team headed for their cars, but Gene stopped Ray. 'Not you, sergeant.'

Ray scowled. 'No time to lose, Guv.'

'You're staying here. While Alex's friends are out there searching for her, I need a link man here. You're it. Don't you dare move from this office.'

'But Guv…'

'But nothing. You made your feelings clear yesterday.'

'I don't _hate_ her, Guv. I just…'

'It's a free country, Ray. You're can think what you like. But you'll do what I tell you. Get on the phone to Wapping and find out who knows about Layton's river activities. What other boats he's got, where they are, what property he owns.

Cruickshank emerged from Gene's office. 'River police on standby.'

'Contact name, sir? DS Carling is going to do a bit of digging.'

Cruickshank spoke direct to Ray. 'Inspector Bragg. Phone number's on the desk.'

'Okay. Let's go.' The two senior men strode from the office, leaving Ray in sole charge of CID.

Gene dispatched three PCs to Layton's Shadwell lair, but took everyone else with him. Just after ten, the convoy got to Trinity Buoy Wharf where the River Lea met the Thames. Gene sent Lucas to dig up the site caretaker; as the search teams were piling out of their vehicles, Gene's radio squawked. 'Guv?'

'Yes, Viv.'

'Van's been found, Guv. Limehouse. Northey Road, just off Narrow Street, right by the lock gates.'

'_Bingo_…'

'Hang on, Guv. Van's empty, and the team that found it said there'd have been no time for anyone to have got DI Drake out of sight before the patrol car got there.'

'How come?'

'Patrol from Limehouse nick spotted the van travelling west on Limehouse Road, and they followed it down to Narrow Street. They were only thirty seconds behind it, Guv. Time for the driver to have sprinted off out of sight, but not to move a reluctant or unconscious prisoner. She can't have been in the van, Guv, sorry.'

'All right, Viv, thanks.' He repeated the news to the team. 'He's trailing red herrings for us, the bastard. But Limehouse Basin is less than two miles from the A12 where he was spotted at about nine-fifteen. So where's he been in the meantime?'

'Hiding Alex somewhere safe, planning to come back later, you reckon?'

'Probably, yes.' Gene nodded to Cruickshank. 'I'll lay odds she's here somewhere, but…' He shut his eyes and put his head back in despair. 'He could also have put her anywhere on the Isle of Dogs. Anywhere within twenty minutes' drive of Limehouse. Hell's teeth...'

Cruickshank put a hand on Gene's shoulder. 'I'll turn Limehouse nick out to work the Isle of Dogs. There are people about all night who will have seen the van. If Layton's been down there, we'll find out. You concentrate your efforts here.' He clapped Gene on the back, and strode over to the nearest police van. 'Six men to come with me to Limehouse.' He took the nearest half dozen and left.

Lucas had retrieved a wizened gnome clutching a bunch of keys. 'Billy Payne, Guv. Says he needs permission from Trinity House to open up.'

Gene loomed over the little jobsworth. Held his hand in front of the man's face. 'See that?' The caretaker squinted at Gene's left palm, then yelped as Gene's right hand slapped the back of his head. He dropped the keys; Gene snatched them off the ground and tossed them to Lucas. 'Get Duffy to unlock everything he can find a key for; three of you per building.'

The Fenchurch crew was split into teams and scattered down Orchard Place with CID concentrating on the Trinity wharves; Gene put three young PCs at vantage points to watch for Layton and posted Shaz on radio duty, sticking by the Quattro in case there was news.

The gnome was whingeing about permission, but flinched as Gene put a heavy hand on his shoulder and bent down confidingly, speaking softly. 'Tell you what, Billy. You see if you can raise the boss of Trinity House and ask permission. Then I'll tell them to start looking for a new caretaker in the morning because you'll be behind bars for obstructing our enquiries, aiding and abetting the abduction of a police officer…' He raised his voice by fifty decibels. '…rowing Lord Lucan to France, holding Jack McVitie's hat, and doing Jack the Ripper's _laundry._'

Wide-eyed and slack-jawed, Billy the gnome realised he was facing an angry man. 'I ent d-dun n-nuthin…'

Gene smiled at him like an alligator coming off a diet. 'I bet nothing gets past you, does it, Billy?'

The caretaker shrugged, not knowing what the big copper wanted to hear.

'Eagle-eyed, ears like a lynx, eh?'

Billy's head wobbled somewhere between a shake and a nod.

'So being London's ace caretaker, you'll have noticed a white van driving in here about an hour ago, won't you?' Gene's hand tightened on the little man's shoulder till he bleated.

'In fact, I bet you know the driver, don't you, Billy boy?'

That got a violent shake of the head.

'Oh, so you don't know Arthur Layton, then?'

More fervent head shaking.

'He given you a taste of how it feels to upset him, Billy?'

Terrified by the menace in Gene's quiet question, the caretaker just stared at him.

'What does he give you to turn a blind eye, Billy? Cash? Baccy? Or just keeping your face in one piece?'

The frightened little man farted. 'I… n-no… d-d…'

'Come again? Talk before I run out of patience.' Gene put a gloved hand on the back of the caretaker's neck, fingers and thumb pressing a fraction too hard, then a fraction harder.

Writhing under Gene's hand, Billy found his voice. 'He d-doesn't give me nuthin. The gaffer sees me aw'right. Bit o' this and that.'

'Gaffer? The site foreman?'

'Nah. The 'ead blacksmith. 'S 'is brother Albie.'

'Arthur Layton's brother?'

'Just toldjer, din' I?'

Gene squeezed a little harder. 'Don't push it, Lonely. What happened tonight?'

'N-n-nuthin!'

Gene grabbed the waistband of his saggy trousers, twisted and jerked upwards. The gnome was squealing and scrabbling at Gene's arm.

'Oh, you've still got balls, have you?' Gene snarled at him. 'Then unless you want to join the Pearly Queens' Choral Society, I'd start squeaking if I were you.' He gave the trousers an extra twist.

The caretaker begged to be allowed to speak, at least Gene assumed that's what the pained mewling suggested, and he let the little man's heels reach the ground, albeit ready to hoist him back up if necessary.

'Right, Billy Payne-in-the-arse. What happened tonight?'

'Van come in about nine fifteen. Parked there.' He pointed at a spot near the pier. 'I turned the radio up loud and looked at page three till I 'eard the van go a bit before ten. Thass it.'

'Where did Layton go?'

'Toldjer, mister. When the van comes in I have to keep me 'ead down. Dunno what he did.'

Gene was snarling in frustration. 'Where does the blacksmith work?'

'Chain store.' He pointed at the big brick building behind the lighthouse.

'Where's Layton's boat moored?'

'It's on the pier, look.'

'Anything else I should know? Sort of thing that would persuade me not to pull your balls out through your arsehole?'

Up on his tiptoes again, arms flapping and gasping for relief, Billy shook his head like Stevie Wonder on speed.

'Where's the crapper?' Grabbing the caretaker's collar Gene shook him like an alsatian with a chihuahua. Billy pointed at a hut, and was marched over and thrust inside. 'There you go. Now you can give in your inner urges.' Gene slammed the door and wedged it shut with a handy 45-gallon drum.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

_Gene? Not going in today. Feel like shit. So dark. Why so dark? Where… wh… Gene? …oh god… No. Gene!_ Alex came up to consciousness with a jolt, opening her eyes to complete blackness, complete silence. Gasped for breath but mouth wouldn't open. _Can't breathe oh god breathe…_ Air whistling in and out of her nose. _Not enough. Can't see._ She tried to rub her eyes. Couldn't move her arms. Legs… _God_… _can't move_. The fear washed through her like a breaking wave, dragged her into a whirlpool of confused senses, horror, rising panic. Fractured thoughts flashed in and out of her mind as she fought for sanity, grasping desperately at anything to tell her if she was alive or dead. Voices in her head. 'Alex Price… Don't you _dare_ be a quitter.' _Mum. Mum, where are you?_ Searching the dark for her mother's smile, aching to be gathered up in loving arms. 'Don't you _dare_…' A snarl. _Gene. Gene… Save me_. The darkness opened over her. Swallowed her down.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

The search parties fired out around Leamouth, Gene raced down the steel gangway and across the pontoon to _The Lady Di_, Layton's party boat where Alex had gone undercover the day she arrived. _Has to be here. Can't lose her. Won't._ With Chris and Duffy in his wake, he went through the boat like a dose of salts, yelling for Alex as he went, but it yielded nothing. Same result from the other three vessels tied up on the Lea. Same result from the buildings. Voices shouting her name, echoing around the wharves. No answer.

The river police searched two Thames barges moored on the Canning Town shore, then worked their way upstream, searching the few vessels tied up to piers and jetties along Blackwall. Nothing.

xxxxxxxxxxx

_Gene. No, Dad… Sea of red and black… black smoke… candles… Molly. Hiding from someone. Who? Must hide away. Climb into the big chest in the hall. No-one will find me here. Count to a hundred… seven, eight, nine_… Alex woke and opened her eyes, but there was nothing to see. Breathing hard through her nose, mouth blocked. Tried to move. _Stuck. _Couldn't remember where she was. _Hiding_. Locked away. _Breathe, Alex. Calm. Think. You're alive. Analyse_. She felt her heart racing, sucked in breath, tried to slow her thoughts, slow her heart. Her body began to claim her attention. Muscles cramped, stiff. Body twisted. Lying on her side, knees bent. Arms pulled back; wrists pushed together. Stuck fast. Not rope. Pulling at the hairs on my skin. Tape. Duct tape. Over my mouth too. _Nauseous. Head pounding. Gagged. Musn't throw up. Breathe, Alex, calm._ Where was she? Blind. Deaf. But she could smell, and she could feel. Damp; something damp against her face. Turned her head, scrape of hard, rough material over her skin, salt-smelling. Stagnant. Diesel. _Not deaf_. She could hear her breath rush in and out of her nose, hear the tiny sounds of her movements; the shush of textile against her face as she'd turned her head. Felt her body on a hard surface, a harder object under her hip. Stone. Metal. Jutting into her. Slight movement. Sick feeling. Her ears caught a faint _slap_ and _gulp_ in rhythm. Off balance… Not on solid ground. _Water_. On a boat. She was on a boat, covered with wet canvas. Sail, tarpaulin, maybe. Small space; not long enough to lie straight. Could feel the wall behind her with her fingers. Sensed the roof close above her, felt sound bounce off surfaces close to her face. No engine sound. Boat, tied up somewhere. River? Sea? Docks? _Alive. I'm alive. My mind is working, making connections_. Then memory flashed. _The voice. Hand over my face. Layton._ She remembered his shadow; remembered bucking and writhing against his arm, and the stench of chloroform. Realising what must have happened, she screamed against the gag, muzzled, muted, self-loathing and rage pouring out of her in tears and muffled sobbing. _So stupid… stupid bitch. Gene. Sorry, so sorry, my love... _

xxxxxxxxxxxx

They'd searched the entire Leamouth peninsula by three in the morning; every warehouse, shed and storeroom, every boat on and off the water. Nothing. Gene was at his wit's end.

The plods he'd sent to Shadwell had radio'd in with no news. Layton's yard was almost empty, the arches stripped bare of all but detritus. No sign of anyone there for months. Cruickshank's team had turned up nothing at Limehouse, and once SOCO had taken away the van for forensics, had quickly joined the local force on the perimeter of the Isle of Dogs searching for a sighting of the white van.

Gene had sent the uniforms home at half past one and had got to Dorney to draft in a team from Plaistow, with a new team from Fenchurch East due at six. His CID team, completely exhausted, had finally agreed to go back to the station for a couple of hours' kip, except for Shaz who refused point blank to leave until Alex was found, and Chris, who wouldn't leave his Guv. Gene made them both get in the back of the Quattro for a rest, and within five minutes they were out for the count, heads together.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

_Thirsty. Hurting. How long?_ She tried to calm her breathing, stop herself from panicking. Thought of Gene. _Hang on to him._ _Gene. He'll find me. GeneGeneGene_… She recited his name in her head like a mantra, conjuring up his image, clinging to him. _GeneGeneGene GeneGeneGene. I'm here, my love. GeneGeneGene. _She kept going, concentrating on saying his name, keeping his face in her mind's eye. Ignoring the cramp and the thirst and the foetid air. Ignoring the panic that threatened if she thought about her tiny prison. _Coffin_. _No_. _GeneGeneGene. Just a good hiding place. The chest in the hall. Count to ten. GeneGeneGene._ Letting the time slither past.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

The Plaistow team was working its way round East India Dock; for a moment, Gene stood by his car watching Chris and Shaz sleep in each other's arms. _Don't let go, Chris._ He could still feel Alex's body against his, the weight of her arm on his chest, her breath soft and warm against his skin, small sounds of contentment as she slept, safe in their bed. He grunted, face twisting as the pain of it clawed at his insides. _Alex..._ Six hours. Only six hours since his world blew apart. Eight hours since he'd yelled at her, told her he wasn't sure… Sure of what? Sure she was everything he'd longed for? Sure he wanted her joined to him in every way possible? _Not sure I deserve her. Not sure I'll hold on to her once she comes to her senses._ He walked away from the car, over to the lighthouse; climbed the spiral stairs to the lantern, stood looking out over the deserted wharves and quays, sure that Alex was out there somewhere close to him, hidden too well.

He turned his head to where he'd first set eyes on her, a hundred yards west and nine months shy of where he stood. Held as a shield with the bent banker's arm round her neck. _Bolly Knickers in her ridiculous red dress. Skirt so short he could see her credentials. Bubble perm and tart's fake fur. _He'd resisted the pull for weeks, distrusting her, then scared of giving in to feeling. He relived every fleeting touch, every lost chance before they surrendered to it. _The first kiss…_ Lived the moment that their lips touched and her mouth opened to his, the piercing sweetness of it lighting him up, flashing through every nerve from his balls to his brain. _Alive again. So alive with Alex in my arms_. He could feel her presence. Alive. Close. Somewhere here. _Where, Alex? Where are you, my love?_

xxxxxxxxxxxx

She woke with a cry, feeling Gene's arms holding her tight, his voice in her head. Opened her eyes to look into his. Whimpering as she stared into the cold dark. _No. Alone_. _ohgod ohgod. _Mustn't panic. Mustn't give in to it._ Please. Gene. I'm here_. Wrists sore. Shoulders and arms aching. Cramped muscles desperate to stretch out. Damp canvas chilling her face. Body numb where it touched the frigid floor of her prison. Thirsty. Time… _How long?_ No light. Nothing to give her a clue about time. _Try to sleep. Pass the time till he finds me. GeneGeneGene. GeneGeneGene… _

xxxxxxxxxxxx

The rain was falling again, hammering on corrugated roofs and bouncing off the metal railings round the lantern. Headlights coming down the road, stopping behind the Quattro. Jaguar. _Cruickshank_. Gene trudged down the spiral and ran through the downpour, diving into the open passenger door of the XJ6 and slamming it shut.

'You can drive, then?'

'Sent Kieran home. Anything new here?'

Gene told him about Billy Payne and Layton's brother Albie. 'Took Layton's bloody boat apart, down to the bilges. Nothing. Same with the chain store. Lot of chains. No sign of Alex.'

'How thorough have you been?'

Gene glared at him and bit back a sharp retort. Took a breath. 'We've been into roofspaces and manholes. Looked in tanks and sumps, lockers and cupboards. No-one from my nick has been lazy or slapdash. How did your lot do?'

Cruickshank sighed. 'All right, Gene. It wasn't a criticism.'

They sat listening to the rain attack the car, water streaming down the windows.

Turning his head away from Gene, staring through the fall of rain, Cruickshank took a deep breath. 'Gene… about earlier…'

'Forget it.'

'Need to clear the air.'

'You can't help how you feel, Brian. Trouble is, I can't help how you feel, either. Not much either of us can do about it.'

'You need to understand…'

'I do.' He sighed. 'You like me, you love her. She likes you, but she loves me. Look, it would make more sense for her to marry you but if any of us had any sense we'd be accountants, not coppers.' He reached into a pocket for fags and lighter.

'Don't mind me.'

Gene ignored the murmured jibe. 'If you want to do something useful, Brian, there are two people you can turn out of their beds. First is Albie Layton; his brother was a drug dealer before we bust him last year, and it could be Albie's importing for him. Whatever he's up to, it's gives us the excuse to get him into an interview room and get a warrant.'

'The other?'

'Evan White. Lawyer. Used to work for Tim and Caroline Price who were killed October last by a car bomb. Layton is suspected of planting the bomb; Evan White was the one who got him out of the Scrubs the day before. He may know where the turd lurks when he's not out making people's lives a misery.'

'Are you just going to sit here?'

'She's here. I know she's here. She's too well hidden; but Layton has to come back. And I'll be waiting for him.'

'Stick within the law, Gene. Focus on Alex.'

'Thanks for the advice.' Gene gave Cruickshank a level stare. 'Means a lot, coming from one so perfectly seated on his high horse.'

Cruickshank flushed as the dart went home. 'I lost control. Won't...'

Gene opened the door and got out of the car. Looked back in at Cruickshank. 'Write a poem, Brian. I can't… it's…' He shut his eyes for a moment, then pushed himself upright and walked off, getting into his own car and watching as the Jaguar turned and drove away.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

She slept, woken often by nightmares, gasping for breath, sometimes screaming; the sickly smell in her head, Layton's cold hands over her face. It often took seconds before she felt the canvas, smelt rotting weed, tasted the salt in her throat. Tried to pump blood through her cramped limbs by tensing and releasing muscles in turn, moving arms and legs a few inches. She was frightened to try to move more; longed to turn over but scared she'd get trapped tighter, caught up in rope or canvas, couldn't get out of it, suffocating… _Stop it. Calm down. GeneGeneGene_… Rocked herself back and forth, chanting her mantra silently. Her head was pounding; she was cold. Shivering. It was stuffy, the air thick, viscous. _Oh Christ…_ There had to be air getting in or she'd have been dead by now. But not enough. _God, please, don't let me suffocate. GeneGeneGene. Please, please… I'm here, I'm here, I'm here… _

xxxxxxxxxxx

Gene woke his sleeping DCs when he moved the Quattro out of sight behind a shed. 'Chris, watch the road entrance. Leave the light on in the caretaker's hut – Layton will expect Billy to be in there. I'll watch the wharf. Shaz, get back to Layton's boat. Search it again, but be discreet. When Layton comes back I don't want him running scared because he hears you blundering around. It'll start getting light in an hour; Layton will want to be here and gone before anybody starts work.'

He found a bit of shelter in the doorway of the chain store and settled in to wait. Longed for a fag, but knew the glow of a cigarette in the darkness was a classic giveaway. _Nicotine withdrawal might take the edge of the fear_. But it didn't. The fear of losing Alex was worse than anything he'd felt. Worse than waiting for his father to lose his temper, worse than waiting for Leslie Johns to turn the shotgun on him for the last time. Knowing Alex was lying somewhere, terrified, trusting him to find her; not knowing how badly she was hurt. Knowing that time would run out for her all too soon. For him, helpless, the rage like ice in his blood, time dragged deathly slow. _Agonising bloody waiting. Come on, you evil bastard, show your face_.

He was there. Was he? Was he? _Yes_. Shadow skulking in the dark, scrawny figure sneaking through the rain towards the pier. Gene stalked him, footsteps unheard in the hammering rain, waiting till Layton had a foot on the gangway before he accelerated, sprinting to cover the few yards between them. Grabbed Layton's collar and one arm, dragging him back off the gangway, cursing as he got Layton's elbow in his ribs and his heel stamped against Gene's shin. Welcomed the pain as the rage burst from him, his fist smashing into Layton's face again and again, until the blood flew. Gene slammed his enemy into the steel frame of the gangway, his head bouncing off the upright. Exulted in the feel of his fist sinking into Layton's belly, hearing the bastard's breath forced from his lungs. Dragged him up and slammed him against the gangway. 'Where is she? Where is she, arsewipe? Tell me before I split open your yellow belly and make you eat your own guts…'

Layton laughed at him through his bloody mouth. 'You kill me and you'll never find her, pig. She'll die, and you'll want to.' His laughter turned into a wheezing cough as Gene kneed him in the bollocks; Layton dropped to his knees, curled over in agony at Gene's feet. In the grip of the bloodlust, Gene was beyond reason, a berserker, wanting only to smash the threat to his family, destroy the marauder. He grabbed a fistful of Layton's hair, pulled his head back, fist raised to break his neck; found his arm held, yanked down and twisted behind his back.

'Guv, no! You'll kill him. Stop…'

The voice penetrated the bloody fog in Gene's head. 'Carling! Fuck you… Let go of me. Get off me!' He struggled, one fist still holding Layton, the other in Ray's desperate grip. He released Layton, who fell to the ground coughing; with a roar, Gene wrenched his arm from Ray's clutches and shoved him hard enough to make the burly sergeant lose his footing on the rain-slicked surface. Gene grabbed at Layton, dragging him to his feet, gloved hands round his throat, snarling in his face. 'Where is she? Where, you shit, where?' He was shaking him, gripping him too hard, squeezing till he began to choke.

'Stop him, for Christ's sake. He'll kill him…' Ray's voice.

A body slammed into Gene, knocked him off balance, made him loose his grip on Layton. Hands on both wrists, forcing him to let go.

'Guv, stop. Please stop. Give it up. _Guv_…'

Gene wrenched himself free and whipped round to face his tormentors. Two of them. Carling, grim-faced, and Skelton, terrified. 'You bastards. He's going to talk. I'm making him talk…'

'You're killing him, Guv.' Ray reached out to him, trying to get him to move away from Layton. Gene, still murderously angry, lashed out and caught Ray on the chin, knocking him flying; a second later, Gene staggered and fell as Chris's fist connected with his jaw.

Released and for a moment ignored, Layton lurched to his feet and vanished into the darkness of the deserted East India Dock as the young DC helped his two superior officers to their feet, the three of them drenched, clothes sodden. 'Sorry, Guv. Sorry… Had to stop you…'

'Stupid bastard, you've let him go…'

'He's saved your skin, Guv. Leave him be.' Ray strong-armed Gene, held him off. 'Chris, go and help Shaz. Now.'

The young man did as he was told and ran down the gangway to the boat, leaving his senior officers squared up to each other.

'What the fuck are you doing here? I told you to stay in the office.'

'That was yesterday.'

'You've just lost me the key to Alex's prison. If she dies because…'

'You were just about to kill him, Guv. That would have put you inside for life...'

'If you grassed me up, you miserable bastard.'

'… and it wouldn't have helped Alex.'

'She's DI Drake to you, Sergeant.'

'Whatever you say, Guv. You do what you think best. I'm going to help the others search.' Ray pushed past Gene and marched down to the pier.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

She lost track of what was dream and what was waking, sliding in and out of sleep, muzzy headed.

_So thirsty. Want water. Please. GeneGeneGene. GeneGeneGene. GeneGene._

_GeneGeneGene. GeneGene._

_Gene. GeneGene. Gene._

_Gene. Gene._

_Gene_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He stood in the tipping rain, his head pounding. _Where are you?_ He shut his eyes and listened, focused every atom to listen for her voice… a cry… tapping… anything. Anything. Gradually he felt the headache fading. Draining away like water. Then a weakness in his limbs, a wrenching pain in his gut as it reached his brain. _No. NO_. _Alex_… He howled her name into the pouring blackness. '_Alex!' _Heaved in another breath_. 'ALEX….!_'

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

TBC


	37. Blink

_This was a real co-operative effort, with my brilliant medical expert Dr Wombledon finding a way to achieve what was needed in this chapter. What chances of having a superb beta who just happens to be an expert in all the things I need an expert for? She's a GeneGenius._

xxxxxxxxxxxx

'Hello, Mum.'

_Mum… Mummy. Don't leave me on my own_.

Don't you dare.

Alex, where are you?

_Hiding. Count to a hundred. …eight, nine…_

Fruitcake always was my favourite.

_I could kiss you._

Un-bloody-breakable.

_Don't need sleep. I need you._

Wake up, Alex.

_Why am I'm crying?_

It's going to be fine. You're supposed to be happy.

We're waiting for you, Alex.

_Dad?_

I know how to protect my family.

_Thought I had to fight you to stay alive._

She's got no-one else, and I love her.

Love you more than I can tell you.

_I'm off the team._

Don't fight to wake up. It'll hurt too much.

You're a tough old bird when you want to be.

_Not alone any more_

Don't you dare.

_This is madness. _

Don't leave me now.

_You see all your mistakes. Before you die._

It doesn't have to hurt.

_Mum… Molly…_

'It's Evan's birthday today. I tried to make him a cake but it went like concrete. Kyle's coming over with a DVD of _Casino Royale_. You'll like Kyle. His mum's nice. Older than you but still quite pretty. Not as pretty as you though. Evan likes her. He pretends he doesn't but I see him looking at her.'

_Evan? Can't move. Hands tied. Legs numb. Can't feel anything. Can't see. Eyes open. Why can't I see? Floating. _

'Mum? Evan!'

_Evan. Blackberry crumble. Molly. Molly!_

'Evan, look. Her eyes are open. Is she waking up?'

'Alex? Are you awake? Can you hear me? It's Evan. Molly's here.'

_Molly. Molls. Bolls. Evan. Molly? Molly! Voices. Where are they? Why can't I see? Am I still alive? _

'Evan, look, her lips are moving. Mum? Mum… What are you trying to say?'

'Hey, Scrap. Don't get upset. If she's waking up we'll find a way to talk to her. You've got a lot of catching up to do. Don't cry, Molls.'

Don't cry, Bolls.

'I thought I wouldn't ever talk to her again.'

'I know, Scrap. But she's tough, your mum. She's not a quitter. And she loves you more than anything.'

'Does this mean she'll get better after all?'

'Sssh, Molly. She can probably hear us, so don't say anything to upset her. Let's go and get a drink.'

Bottle of your house rubbish.

'Back soon, Mum.'

_Bisy Backson. Rng if answr reqrd. Sing ho! for a bear. Talking bear. More tea, Mr Tumnus? Honey. A little smackerell. The best kind of Turkish delight. So cold. Snow. Stone statues at Cair Paravell. The lion will bring them back to life. Lion. Scarecrow. Dorothy. Not that lion. Not terrified. Baffled, maybe._

Don't start on me. I'm the Manc Lion. It says so on my door.

_Honey_… _Love honey_… _love…_

'Hello, Alex. Nurse Lacey tells me you're waking up. You're quite a fighter. My name's Anita Rahim; I'm your consultant. We're going to do some tests in a while, to see what your brain is up to. But we need to find a way you can tell us things. We'll try your fingers first. If you can, move your right index finger.'

_Making connections. Finger. Move. _

'Come on, Alex. Try for me.'

_Trying. Tell me what's happened. How long? _

'Okay, Alex. Let's see if you can wink for me. I want you to concentrate. I want you to blink your eyes for me. Shut them now, Alex.'

_Shut_.

'Good. Fantastic. Now open.'

_Open. Open? Still can't see. Why can't I see you?'_

'And again.'

'And once more.'

'Brilliant. Welcome back, Alex. Now we're motoring. We need a code. One blink for no, two blinks for yes. Try for me. Is your name Alex?'

_Shut once. Twice._

'Is my name Beyoncé?'

_Once_.

'And your memory's good. Amazing. Glad to meet you, Alex. You've been asleep for nearly a week. I expect you want to know what's happened to you?'

_Once, twice._

'You remember you were shot?'

_Once, twice._

'You were found very quickly, which is what saved your life. Someone heard the shot and saw a man running away. You were in the hold of a Thames lighter at Trinity Buoy Wharf. That's opposite the Millennium Dome. Do you remember being there?'

_Once._

_Twice. _

'You were brought here to the Royal London Hospital in Whitechapel, and we've been looking after you. Molly has been in every day with Evan. Do you remember them, Alex?

_Yes. Of course I remember them._

_Yes. _

There was a smile in the consultant's voice. 'Okay, next I want to know how you feel. Body first. Are you in any pain?'

_No. _

The consultant slowly took Alex through the slow process of checking, but after what felt like a thousand questions, she could barely think, let alone respond. She let her eyes close.

'Okay, Alex. You must be tired. I'll give you something to help you sleep. Then you'll feel a bit better when Evan and Molly see you later.'

_Warm fog… Soft..._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Pssst… you can't go to sleep now. Come and join the land of the living.

_Black knight. White queen._

It's like getting to heaven early.

_Take me to paradise._

Bind her with fire.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Voices. Noises. Feet. _

'Alex? Are you awake?'

_Evan_.

Don't talk to that man.

_I'll talk to whoever I like._

'Molly's just coming. She's texting this lad Kyle to tell him you're awake. He's a nice boy. Just thirteen. Molly's two inches taller than he is.' He chuckled. 'They're only friends, don't worry. But she talks to him. He knows about hospitals; his dad had cancer… But here she comes, your beautiful daughter.'

'Mum…'

_Molly. Not a dream. Molls. Said I'd find my way back to you. Darling girl…_

'The nurse told us you can talk, sort of.

'Mum can answer yes or no, Molls, by blinking. One for no, two for yes.'

'Can't believe it, Evan. Didn't think…'

_Don't cry, Molls. Want to hold you. Want to smell your hair and feel you in my arms again. Don't cry._

'It's the best birthday present, your mum waking up.'

'She was shot on my birthday.'

'I know, Scrap... Shall we swap? Or you could just switch to today, and we'll have a joint birthday-and-waking-up fest. What do you think, Alex? Good idea?'

_Yes_.

'Is there a smile in there?'

_Yes_.

'Oh, Mum…'

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

'Alex? Hello, darling.'

_Evan. Yes._

'Now you've got this blinking thing down to a fine art, maybe you could try texting. I need to talk to you, and yes or no won't be enough. Remember _The Diving Bell and the Butterfly_?'

_Yes_.

'He wrote a whole book by blinking. Bit of a show-off, but he was French. What can one say?'

_Yes._

_Yes. Haha_.

'Remember how they did it? He blinked once for A, twice for B, three times for C, and so on. We can do it like a sort of predictive texting – you can use the atrocious spelling and syntax in common usage.'

'Evan! You text all the time!'

'Yes, Scrap. But I use decent English.'

'You are _so_ last century.'

They started to talk. It was a slow process, but over the days they got the hang of skeletal text-language blinking. It drove them all mad, but Evan and Molly could at least escape for a breather.

_Let me out of this cage. Want to go home. Please let me out…_

You're _not_ walking out on me.

_I'm not leaving you._

'Mum?'

_Yes, Molly love._

'I wish I could hear your voice. I miss it. Miss you. Want a hug.'

They'd invented shorthand for _Evan_, _Molly_, _love_, _please, thanks, don't know_ and _nurse_, but it wasn't enough. Not by a very long, long way was it enough.

_Want to hold you, Molls. Want to see you smile. Want to make you breakfast and take you to school, and yell at you for the state of your room, and see you being furious when I make you do homework before going on Facebook. Want to see you living, growing up, falling in love._

Love you, Bolls.

_Don't... Don't think about him. You'll go mad. Smile for me, Molls. Molly. I promised I'd come back. Had to fight, but I'm back. Love you so much._

Don't leave me now.

_I'm lucky. Got my wish. I'm back with my daughter. _

When Evan next came in on his own, Alex asked him what she dreaded to know.

_Evan. Wil I gt bettr._

'Oh, Alex… I've been dreading this.'

_Well, that's answered that, then._

_Evan. OK. Tell._

'I need the consultant to explain. But, my darling girl, I don't think you will get much better, no. I'm so sorry.' His voice cracked, and she could hear the tears in his words.

_OK. OK. Love, Evan._

'I love you, too, Alex. Very much.'

_Fathr. Frend. Best. Tx. Tx._

He couldn't stop his tears, then. 'Don't thank me. You've been the best thing in my life. You and Molly. The _best_ thing. My brave, brilliant, beautiful girl…'

When the consultant came, Evan told her what Alex wanted.

'Is this right, Alex? You want to know the extent of your injuries, and your prognosis?'

_Yes. Pls, yes._

All right. I'm sure you'll have realised some of the effects of your injury, but you may find this quite a shock. Let me give you the whole picture, then you can ask me questions. But if you want me to stop, blink twice. Okay?

_OK._

'All right, then. The bullet entered your skull just above your left eyebrow at a downward angle, exiting at the base of the brain, near the occipital lobe. When the bullet went through the bone, it stayed quite intact, so when it went through the frontal lobe it didn't do too much damage, which is why you can still think and reason. The bullet then went through the bottom of your parietal lobe and knocked out your sight; even though the signals are still coming through the optic nerve, you don't have the ability to interpret what you're seeing. I expect you feel very disorientated; that's because the injury has damaged your ability to tell what's left or right, front or back, up or down. The bullet doesn't seem to have done too much damage to the temporal lobe as you can hear and your memory seems good.'

She took a deep breath. 'The really big problem is that the brainstem has been disrupted. Because you can't swallow, you have to be fed through a tube straight into your stomach. And you can't breathe on your own. You need machines to do that for you.'

_Christ on a bike. I'm well and truly fucked. _

'Alex? How are you doing?'

_OK. _

'It's a lot to take in. Do you have any questions?'

_Hw long._

'How long… will you live?'

_Yes_.

'Your heart is strong. Your mind is strong. You were fit and healthy, but your situation is very grave. I confess I'm amazed you've woken up. You must really have wanted to live. You don't give up easily, Alex.'

_Hw long._

'We can keep you going as long as your body tolerates it, but it would be medically futile, and very unpleasant for you.'

_Oh god, please, no. Kept alive. Half dead. Undead. Lost him but still can't have Molly. Limbo. Life in the bloody twilight zone._

'You will have a problem with infections. You've already had one where the drip went into your arm, but we've been keeping a close eye on you, and were able to knock it out quickly. But you will get others, and some will be difficult to control. Do you want to know this?

_Yes_.

'You will get pneumonia because you can't cough, or move. It will need massive doses of antibiotic and constant draining of the fluid in your lungs.'

_Stop. Stop._

'I'm sorry. It must be very frightening.'

_Nt livng. Bettr die._

'Yes. If you hadn't woken up, that's what we'd do, if Evan and Molly agreed. We'd keep you comfortable and you'd slip away. No pain.'

_Yes. Pls. Pls_.

It doesn't have to hurt.

_I can die, can't I? Can't I?_

Come here.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Alex woke to hear Molly's voice. Angry. Tearful. Not by the bed – further away.

'Why didn't she just die when it happened? Seeing her with all the tubes and wires. It's horrible. It's not mum. Now she's woken up and I thought she was going to get better and now she's not and she says she _wants_ to _die_. She wants to leave us. Leave me. How can she _say_ that? She doesn't love me the same. She's not the same. Not my mum any more…'

_Oh, Molls. I wish I could explain. Molly… I wanted to come back for you. Only for you… I promised. Now I'm back, but half of me is lost. Ripped in half… I've failed you, Molls, and destroyed him. I'm so, so sorry. _

There are some kinds of pain that morphine can't touch.

xxxxxxxxxx

The nurse's voice. 'Look at her finger, Mrs Rahim. I noticed this two days ago, but it's worse today. It looks like a burn, but it can't be.'

'I haven't noticed this before. Was she wearing a ring when she was admitted?'

'No, I don't think so.'

'Very strange. Red anular mark on the ring finger. Is there any other mark on her?'

'No, nothing. It's really weird – it's such a clear shape.'

'Keep an eye on it, Ben.'

xxxxxxxxxx

'Molly, darling, your mum fought to wake up for you. Against all the odds, she's been able to come back for a while. And the lovely thing is it gives you the chance to say everything you want to. Say goodbye in peace. I know how hard it is for you, but it will make all the difference to your mum, and to you, later. Don't waste the chance.'

_Molly. Ask anythng. Want tel u so mch._

'Mum… Evan, I can't…'

_Yes. Like hols. Packng. Ready. Say bye_.

'Molls, come here. It's okay. It's all right to cry.'

_Making my daughter cry. Sobbing her heart out. Molly… wish I could make it better for you_. _And poor Evan. Going through hell again. _

They talked, the three of them, over the days. It was slow, and exhausting, but Alex could reassure them that she wasn't afraid of dying. Planned her funeral with them. Made them laugh when she said she wanted _Star Trekking_ as her farewell song. Told Molly over and over that she loved her. Met Kyle. Saw that Molly was comfortable and happy with her godfather and her friend. Knew she'd be all right, even with all the sadness.

Eventually she began to weaken. The burn on her finger had worsened, wouldn't respond to treatment, and baffled the medics. Then the infection took hold in her chest, and suddenly, there was no time left.

'Are you sure, Alex? You don't want treatment for this?' Anita Rahim spoke clearly, firmly. Molly and Evan were there, her two hands in theirs.

'Alex, blink twice if you _don't_ want us to treat the infection. It will mean you'll die in the next few hours. Take your time to decide.'

_Yes. Yes. Let me go_.

'Very well, Alex. We'll make you comfortable, but we won't treat you any further. Godspeed.'

_Yes. Tx._

We're waiting for you, Alex.

_Dad. No. _

'Mum, I love you. Don't go…'

_Say bye. Go. Not watch. _

'Don't want to leave you, Mum. Don't want you to be alone.'

_No. OK. OK. Love, Molly, love, love. Evan._

'Say goodbye, Molls. It's time.'

'Evan… Can't.'

'Yes, you can. See what Mum's telling you. She's okay, and she loves you. But she needs you to say goodbye, Scrap.'

_Bye, Molly. Love. Love. Bye._

A whisper through tears. 'Bye, Mum. I love you…'

'Beautiful girl. My lovely Alex. Goodbye, darling.'

_Evan. Molls. Love. Bye_. _Love… love…_

_It's a big day. The biggest day._

Ready, Bolls?

_As I'll ever be, Guv._

Not alone, Bolls, not any more.

_Du bist die ruh, der Friede mild…_

Waited for you all my life.

_Gene. Gene. _

_Gene…._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He stood clutching the frame of the gangway, gasping for air, a hand to his chest. Sank to his knees, head tipped back, rain streaming over his face, washing the strength out of him. _Can't be the end. Can't lose her. I won't let you go, Alex. Hang on, my love. _

'_Guv!_' A banshee scream from the boat galvanised him. _Shaz?_ Without conscious thought he was on his feet and racing down the gangway.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

TBC


	38. Waiting

_As ever, deeply grateful to beta Wombledon for Eirisms and medical consultancy, as well as general back-up and an eagle eye._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

'Guv! Here…' Chris was standing halfway out of a hatch in the aft deck of the pontoon. The pontoon… Gene could hear Shaz and Ray shouting, and dived down the steps after Chris. Their torch beams fractured the darkness in the hold as Ray struggled to open a locker wedged against the steel ribs of the lighter.

'Guv… It's her ring. Look…' Shaz held Alex's engagement ring in her palm. 'It caught the light. Just here.'

The locker, five foot long, three foot wide and two high, was galvanised steel, the lid secured with a big padlock; there was an untidy pile of canvas to the side.

'Get it open. Find a crow bar, a steel rod – anything.'

Gene flung open a locker full of rope and was about to raid another when Shaz appeared out of the darkness with something clutched in each hand. 'Here, Guv.'

He snatched a rusty metal rod from her and jammed it into the padlock, leaning his whole body weight against it, cursing. Ray wedged the other rod under the hasp, braced one foot on the locker; with a heave the two of them forced the hasp open, and they flung open the lid and pulled back the dirty sailcloth.

'Alex… _Alex_.' Gene touched her, shook her gently. She wasn't moving, wet hair covering her face, slender body wedged into the tiny space. Gene bent to get his hands underneath her and Ray leaned in and lifted her at the knees as Gene heaved her up and out of the metal box; between them they laid her on the wet rusty floor. In the light of Shaz's torch, she looked deathly pale, eyes closed, lips blue-tinged; Shaz was crouched at her side, feeling for a pulse. Gene, on his knees, pulled the tape off her mouth, but she didn't react to the pain of it. Muttering to her, he put his left arm under her neck, ear to her mouth trying to find a breath.

'She's got a pulse, Guv.'

'Don't think she's breathing.' He pulled her chin down, took a deep breath, closed his mouth over hers, breathed into her. Sucked in more air, pushed it into her, and again. As he drew in another deep breath, Alex coughed weakly, and her ribs lifted and fell in shallow breaths.

'Chris, get the car.' Gene pulled the keys from his pocket, and Chris was up the ladder and gone. 'Help me, Ray.' Between them, the two men carried Alex up out of the hold until Gene could take her in his arms up the gangway, putting her gently in the back of the Audi. 'Shaz – in front. Chris, you're driving.' Gene got in the back, gathering Alex to him, and turning back to his sergeant. 'Ray – get SOCO here and make sure they find something to tie Layton and his van to that… box. Tell Dorney and Cruickshank I'll be in touch, soon as.' He shut the door, knowing he could rely on Ray to clear up and get whatever evidence there was to cement Layton into a prison cell.

Chris drove off, leaving Ray in the pouring rain, running to his car for the radio.

'Bolls. Wake up.' Gene kissed her head. 'You're safe now. Bolls? Wake up, love.' He snarled in desperation, not understanding why she wouldn't wake; checked she was still breathing; kissed her cold lips, stroked the wet hair out of her eyes. 'Shaz, there's a Swiss Army knife in the glovebox. Get this tape off her.'

'Come _on_, get out the way…' Chris was tapping the wheel, the Quattro stuck at lights on East India Dock Road and a Post Office truck blocking their way.

'Chris, you've got a siren and an accelerator, for fuck's sake. _Use them._'

'Yes, Guv...'

The familiar wail cut through the early morning air, and Chris, given permission to drive like his DCI, took the Quattro through the next four sets of lights at over sixty miles an hour, burning rubber as he skidded into the ambulance bay at the Royal in Mile End. Shaz leapt out of the car and raced to get help, and Gene let Alex go only so he could get out of the back seat and ease her out, lifting her and carrying her into Casualty; she was taken from his arms and whisked away. Forcibly prevented from following, Gene was quizzed about Alex's history, then shunted out to the waiting area to find his two DCs. He slumped on to a chair, elbows on knees, head in his hands; felt a hand on his shoulder.

'She'll be okay now, Guv. You found her in time.'

He looked up. 'You found her, Shaz. I owe you. Both of you.'

'DI Drake saved my life. I'd do anything for her. Here, Guv.' Shaz opened her hand to show him Alex's ring. Gene took the ring and watched the fire flickering in the stones before tucking it into an inside pocket and getting to his feet. 'You should both go home and get some sleep.'

'As soon as we know the Boss is okay.' Chris put an arm round Shaz. 'We'll go and get you a cup of tea, Guv.'

Gene nodded and watched them walk down the corridor hand in hand, then went back to wring answers out of someone sensible. He found Alex in a cubicle connected up to a drip, still asleep. 'Oi, Bolly Knickers,' he murmured, leaning over her, his lips feathering over her eyelids, down to her cheek. 'Time to wake up. Come on, lazybones, talk to me.' He felt her eyelashes flutter, pulled back to look at her. She was blinking at him. He felt his face crack into a grin. 'Well, good morning to you. Lost your voice?'

She frowned, then looked shocked, her eyes wide. Groaned as she came back into her body.

'I should have known you'd be whingeing as soon as you woke up. You haven't forgotten me in the last twelve hours, have you?'

'G-Gene? Wh… you're here?'

'Where'd you think I'd be, Loopy Lou?'

'Thought I'd lost you…

'You gave it a good old try, I give you that, but we were too quick for you.'

'Thought I'd died. But everything _hurts_.'

'I'll get them to give you something.'

'No, I can _feel_ it. It's amazing…' She put a hand to her mouth. 'I'm breathing.'

'It's all the rage.' He was bemused. 'Did you bang your head, Bolls? You're gaga.'

She looked at her hand, then touched his face; the tears came to her eyes, then, and spilled over. He gathered her into his arms, rocked her as she wept.

'Sorry. I'm so sorry, Gene.'

'Shhh. It's okay. I've got you. Shhhh…'

'I thought I'd never see you again.' She clung to him a little tighter.

'We're getting married on Saturday.' He kissed her ear. 'No getting out of that, Calamity Jane.'

'What's today?'

'Wednesday morning. About seven o'clock.'

'The date?'

'Er, seventh of April.'

'What year?'

'The same year it was yesterday, you nutcase.'

'1982?'

'Yeah, all year. You've definitely had a conk on your noddle.'

She stared at him, bemused, trying to work it all out. 'I only left the house… ten hours ago?'

He made her lie back, and cupped her face in his hands. 'Bolls. Concentrate. You sneaked out of the house at nine o'clock last night, and got yourself nicked by Arsehole Layton. He stuffed you in a sail locker on a lighter at Leamouth, but we found you about an hour ago because you dropped your engagement ring. You dozy tart…' He kissed her ring finger. 'Shaz spotted it, and we broke you out. Chris smashed the land speed record in the Quattro, and you're in the Royal at Mile End.'

_Did I dream everything, then? Molly, and Evan… dying…? I must have done. But…_

'What are you doing in here?' The charge nurse was there, prepared for battle. 'Oh, it's you. You shouldn't be in here, sir.'

'Oh yes I should, sonny Jim.' Gene advanced on the young man. 'This police officer was abducted last night and the perpetrator is still out there. She needs protection, and I'm it. Understand?'

The charge nurse stood his ground. 'Don't bully me, sir. Some protection you are. You've pulled the drip out of her arm.'

Gene whipped round and looked for himself. 'Shit. Sorry, Bolls.'

Alex smiled. 'Didn't notice. It's okay.'

'Shift, sir.' The nurse nudged Gene out of the way and fussed over Alex.

'What is that stuff, anyway?'

'It's saline solution, to get some fluids into her; she's very dehydrated. When did you last eat or drink, darling?'

'Don't know.' She looked at Gene.

He was frowning, thinking back. 'Er, sandwich and cup of tea on the M6. Yesterday lunchtime.'

'Was that yesterday?' Alex slid her hand into his, remembering the motorway services; saw from the look in his eyes that he did, too. Neither heard the nurse speak, or noticed him leave the cubicle.

'Ah, on the mend, I see.'

Gene straightened and turned to see a middle-aged man in a white coat, somewhere between amused and impatient, was peering at them over half-moon specs.

Gene stared back. 'You look like a doctor.'

'Just as well. I'm Dr Moy. You are?'

'DCI Hunt.'

'Uh-huh. You, er, work together?'

Alex smiled at him. 'We do. And we're getting married on Saturday.'

'Are you now. Well, we'd better see if you're likely to be fit.' He turned to Gene. 'Go away, Mr Hunt. You don't look exactly malnourished, but some breakfast might be a good idea. Give me ten minutes.'

In the corridor, Chris was asleep, head on Shaz's shoulder; he was rudely woken when Shaz jumped to her feet. 'How is she, Guv?'

'Doc's with her now. But she's awake and talking nonsense, so…'

Shaz burst into tears. Knowing just how she felt, Gene put an arm round her shoulders; Shaz clung to him, sobbing into his jersey.

'You need sleep, love. It's been a long night.' He looked over her head at Chris. 'Take her home. Phone the station and tell whoever's in that you're both taking the day off on my orders. Here's a fiver for a cab.'

'Thanks, Guv.' Chris reclaimed Shaz as Gene dug in his pockets for cash.

'Shit. Er…'

'It's all right. I've got enough. Oh, your keys.'

'Thanks, Chris.' Gene held out his hand to his DC. 'For everything.'

'You're welcome, Guv.'

Gene bent and kissed Shaz on the cheek, then held her gaze for a moment, and smiled. 'Go on, bugger off. Get some kip. I'll see you on Saturday.'

'Give her our love, Guv.' Shaz grinned at him, and was towed off by Chris, but a second after vanishing round the corner she reappeared. 'Oh, Guv – that's your breakfast there. Sorry, it'll be a bit cold now.'

Gene turned and found a paper bag and plastic cup on a chair: tea and a bacon sandwich, both tepid, but they didn't touch the sides. Longing for another cuppa – not to mention scotch and a fag – but unwilling to leave Alex for any longer, Gene went back to the cubicle just as Dr Moy emerged.

'Doctor?'

'Mr Hunt. Well timed. DI Drake should be absolutely fine after a few days' rest and care. The chloroform has given her a woolly head and a thumping headache, not helped by her difficulty breathing properly while she was gagged. She'll feel sick and groggy till the chloroform works its way out of her system, and she's stiff and bruised, but there's no concussion. A hot bath, nourishing food and sleep is what she needs. Make sure she drinks plenty of water. A couple of paracetamol if needs be, but otherwise TLC.'

'Can I take her home, then?'

'I'll keep her in for a few hours to get her rehydrated, but unless her blood tests show up any problems I'll discharge her this afternoon.'

'What kind of problems?'

'Relax, DCI Hunt. We're just being careful.'

'Thanks.' Gene ducked through the curtain and found Alex dozing; at the touch of his hand on hers, she opened her eyes and smiled up at him. His heart turned over, and he leaned forward to kiss her when the curtain was pushed back. Dorney, Womble and Viv shuffled in round the trolley, clucking over Alex.

Gene was edged out of the way. 'Bloody hell. Coach party.'

Alex caught his eye, but her attention was demanded by Dorney. 'Honestly, sir, I'm fine.'

'She's swinging the lead.' Gene, irritated beyond measure at being invaded, but knowing Alex would be safe, grabbed Womble's arm and dragged him outside. 'You can see her in a minute. I need a cup of tea and a smoke. Come on.'

He opted for the smoke first, and as they pushed through the exit doors, Gene barrelled straight into Cruickshank. 'Fuck me…'

'Not just now, thanks. Alex is all right, I assume, if you're out here. Morning, Roger.'

'Hello, sir. Grand soft day.'

Gene looked out at the slate grey sky spitting yet more rain and reached for his fags. 'Alex is having a ball. Go and join the party, if you can squeeze your carcass in there.'

When Cruickshank had gone in, Womble gave Gene a quizzical look. 'What's with you and the big fella?'

'Nothing.' Gene sucked down the first lungful of smoke and waited for the nicotine to hit, closing his eyes in relief.

Womble had more sense than to pry any further. 'So tell me about Alex.'

'She seemed surprised that it was 1982, but other than that she seems all right. Doc's happy enough.' He took another long drag and put his head back against the wall, all of a sudden light-headed and shaky, his hands icy cold. 'Bloody miracle, Orinoco. Another few minutes and she'd have been dead.'

'But she's not. No point in playing what if. Come on, let's get you some tea and something sugary.'

After another bacon sandwich, a Danish and three cups of tea, Gene felt bone-weary but he'd stopped shivering. 'How come you're here with Viv and the Chief Super?'

'Carol started back at work this morning. I dropped her off, and Viv asked if he could come with me to see Alex. He lives in Plaistow so this is on his way home. Met Dorney in the car park.'

'Did you see Ray?'

'Didn't go in to CID.'

'He refused to come to the wedding.'

'It's still on?'

'You bet your sweet bippy it's still on.'

'Everything organised, then, is it?'

'Registry office is booked, I've got the rings and a flaming expensive suit.'

'Is that it? Nothing planned for after the ceremony? Not going anywhere for a few days?'

Gene sighed like he'd been holding his breath for days, and dropped his head. 'No. I didn't think earlier, and as you say, we've been distracted. I'm marrying the most beautiful woman in the world, and I haven't…' He looked up at Womble and took a deep breath. 'Dorney was right. She should have the cake and the flowers and the honeymoon. All the trimmings. God knows she deserves it. I just wanted to tie the knot and take her home. Jesus… so fucking selfish.'

'Who's the other witness?'

'Shaz. Cruickshank's going to give her away.'

'Right then. Leave it to us.'

'Leave what to you?'

'You get Alex fit and ready for Saturday, and we'll redd up the place a bit. Few flowers, bit of food, a wee drop o' the good stuff, that sort of thing. Want a stag night?'

'Get rotten drunk and set adrift bollock naked in Soho? Don't think so.'

'I was thinking of a few mates to wish you luck.'

'Been bloody lucky the last few weeks. Don't want to push it. We'll have a drink at Luigi's with everyone next week. If I make a tit of myself then I'll be a married tit with a wife to guard my virtue.'

'Okay. Don't you worry about a thing. Come on. I want to see Alex, then I'd better get going.'

Cruickshank was still there when they got back, but he left immediately. Womble headed off after a few minutes, satisfied that Alex was all right. The next wave arrived not long afterwards: Lucas, with a string of messages from Fenchurch East, and Luigi, with flowers.

'Bellissima…' Luigi went off into streams of Italian emotion, dabbing at tears with the hand not clutching Alex's. 'My wife and me, we didn't sleep. So fraid for you. For Signore Hunt…'

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The doctor had to wake them both when he came for a last check on Alex at two; after Luigi and Lucas had gone, she'd fallen asleep with her hand in Gene's, and it hadn't been long before he'd succumbed, head pillowed on their joined hands.

'You intending to drive home, Mr Hunt?'

'Er, yeah. I'll be right as rain, soon as I'm out in it. Hot in here.'

'Take her home, then, and look after her properly. Any problems of any kind, bring her straight back in. Understand?'

Gene gave him a look. 'Thank you, Dr Kildare. Think I can grasp that.'

They were home by half past two, and they both stumbled into the shower, helping each other wash away the stink of the previous night, bone-weary, bruised, and beyond gratitude to be alive and together.

After toast and a bowl of tinned tomato soup, Gene tried to make Alex go to bed; she flatly refused. 'I'm not ill, honey. I want you to tell me about last night. When did you realise what had happened? How did you know where I was?'

They sat together on the kitchen sofa, his arms wrapped round her; the cat, for once, chose Alex's lap, looking up at her and purring hard. Gene noticed the defection. 'He's happy to have you back and all.'

She stroked the kitten's silky body and found her hand trapped under a paw and washed.

'See, Bolls? He agrees with me. You need looking after.'

She was asleep. _So much for Wonder Woman_. Gene smiled to himself and kissed her hair; reluctant to wake her, he put his head back against the sofa cushions and closed his eyes for a moment.

They only slept for an hour or so, woken by the phone; they ignored it, but Alex was determined to fight through the fog in her head, and went to put the kettle on.

'Here.' She handed Gene his tea and put the biscuit tin on the table within his reach. 'Come on, hero, I want to know what happened.

Gene gave her the edited highlights of the night, sliding over the nastier moments. But he'd reckoned without Alex's detective skills. She touched his jaw where the bruises were beginning to colour up, his skinned knuckles. 'I saw the bruises on your body. You've missed something out…'

He sighed. 'Everyone was on edge. I had words with Brian.'

'_Brian?_ You were _fighting_ Brian _Cruickshank_?' She was aghast.

'Not a fight. I hit him, he hit me. End of story.' He couldn't look at her.

Alex was almost speechless. 'But why, for god's sake?'

Gene took a deep breath and looked her straight in the eye. 'He's in love with you, Bolls. Angry with me. Said some things. It was over in two minutes.'

'Pair of idiots.' She kissed the scraped knuckles, then frowned. 'How many punches were thrown?'

'One each.'

'So where did all the others come from?'

'Hang on. Did you know he was in love with you?'

'Who?'

'_Cruickshank_.'

'Sort of. Tried to ignore it. Like you're trying to ignore my question. Where did you get the bruises, Gene?'

He sighed. 'Need a drink.' Gene abandoned her and fortified himself with scotch and tobacco, handing Alex a snifter as well.

'Oh, god. What's happened?'

'Nothing.' Gene was standing at the window staring out at the garden. 'But only because I was stopped.' He told her about Layton, baldly, not sparing himself.

Alex listened to his voice, flat and colourless as he told her what had happened. She felt tears welling at the pain in his voice and the tension in his body as he forced himself to speak.

'If it weren't for Ray Carling, Arthur Layton would be dead, and I'd be a murderer. As it is, Bolls, I wanted to kill him almost more than anything else. I thought I was forcing him to give you up, but in the end, I forgot everything but snuffing him out.' He couldn't look at her; didn't want to see the revulsion on her face. He heard her move; his heart missed a beat.

When he stopped speaking, Alex's thoughts swarmed in the silence, but she acted without conscious thought. Got to her feet, crossed the room and put her arms round him, hugging tight, her cheek against his back. He turned in her arms and held her, grateful beyond belief that she hadn't turned her back on him.

'_Gene_…' She looked up at him. 'Everything I've been taught says you broke the law. But everything I feel says you were justified. After everything that's happened, after what Layton had done, all my instincts say I'd have done the same.'

After a silence, he pulled away from her, looked into her eyes. 'Do you mean it, Alex?'

She nodded. 'Yes.'

'You're not just trying to make me feel better? This isn't going to haunt us?'

'No. No. I think for that moment he was Carteret and Haggerty too. All the poison of the last weeks… It had to come out.' She squeezed him tight. 'But thank god for Ray Carling. Whatever debts he's ever owed you, he repaid them today.'

'Chris, too. It took more balls than I thought he had. And Shaz – she wouldn't give up. Without the three of them…'

'Don't say it. They were there, and we're alive and safe and back home.'

It would take them both time, she knew. Time and talking and love to pull clear of it all. But for now, this was enough.

xxxxxxxxxx

At some stage, Dr Penfold banged on the door, checked them over, left them painkillers and potions for the bruises, and left. Ten minutes later, Carol Watkins turned up, bringing supper and groceries and demanding news; but seeing how exhausted they were, she stayed a scant ten minutes. Both too tired to eat, they went to bed as soon as Carol left and fell asleep in each other's arms, the cat wedged against Alex's leg.

They slept for over twelve hours, and Alex only woke Gene once with her nightmares. In the morning he woke to find the bed empty. 'Alex!' He yelled for her, terrified that finding her alive had been a dream.

'Coming.' She was on the stairs, then pushing open the bedroom door with a tray in her hands and a cat at her ankles. 'Breakfast…'

'Damn. You stole my thunder, Deputy Dawg. I was going to do that.'

'Have to be quicker on the draw, then, McGraw.'

When he went for a paper and ciggies, she phoned his mother to persuade her to come to the wedding, then went to answer the front door. On the step was the postman being intimidated by a large man in a dark suit.

'DI Alex Drake?' The suit flashed a warrant card at her. Special Branch. 'DC Hague, Ma'am. Just making sure.'

The postman handed Alex two brown envelopes and a solid parcel, got her signature on his list, and scarpered, nearly crashing into Gene, fag in mouth, paper under arm.

Squinting to avoid his own cigarette smoke, Gene spoke to DC Hague. 'Did she just open the door? No chain?'

'That's right, sir.'

Gene scowled at Alex. 'You daft t… woman. Layton's still…'

She scowled back. 'Hang on a little tiny second. How did you know Special Branch was lurking on our doorstep?'

Gene flicked a glance at the Branch man. 'Cheers.' He bundled Alex back into the house and shut the door before she could say any more. 'I spotted his mate last night. Rang Cruickshank while you were doing your teeth. He said he didn't appreciate running round the docks in the wee small hours last night and wasn't prepared to let you ruin another night's kip.'

'He said that, did he?'

She smiled, but Gene didn't. 'Bolls, Layton's still free. For Christ's sake, take a few simple precautions, will you? For my sake, if not for yours. I'm losing enough hair as it is.'

'Okay, honey. Sorry. Didn't think.' She kissed him, then turned back to the parcel. 'Look. Goodies.' She saw his face. 'It's all right. It's from Ruth and Simon, look.' The return address was written in Ruth's hand, and was sealed as registered post. 'Shall we open it now, or wait till Saturday?'

'Now.'

'Go on then, Patience.'

Gene grinned at her like a kid at Christmas and ripped it open. Inside a wooden box stuffed with wood shavings was a rare bottle of malt from Simon, and an envelope for each of them.

Alex took hers and sat down. The card enclosed a voucher for a day's treatments at the Sanctuary in Covent Garden; the sentence in Ruth's hand made her laugh out loud. 'If you ever need a break from married life…' But the long letter left her with tears in her eyes.

'Alex, I'm not coming to the wedding. I'm really touched to be asked, but after a long think, I've decided it'd be a bad idea. This is hard to say to you, Alex, but I've never stopped loving him. Didn't like him much sometimes, and often felt angry and hurt. But when I saw him with you, so relaxed and happy – truth is, I don't want to fall in love with him again, Alex. And I could do, very easily. So it's self preservation, but I can't see him again for a while. I love Simon very much. He's right for me - makes me happy in a way I never was with Gene. And with you Gene's become the person he could never be with me. He loves you, body and soul. That's plain to see. Please encourage Gene to go and see Mum sometimes – you must have seen how much she dotes on him. Maybe you and I could meet for dinner when you come up, and let Gene and Simon go off for a boy's night out. Who'd have thought those two would get on? I wish you both every happiness. Love, Ruth.'

Alex looked up and saw Gene clutching his letter, staring into space. 'You all right, honey?'

He gave her a flicker of a smile and handed her the letter without speaking.

'Darling Gene, this comes with apologies from your ex-wife, and with love from your oldest friend. It should have been yours anyway, and I don't need it, so don't even think about not accepting it. Alex will know what to do with it if you don't. You're very lucky to have each other, and I wish you – oh, everything wonderful. Love always. Ruth.'

Pinned to the letter was a cheque for £23,000.

'It's the money from the house in Prestwich. All of it.'

'Wow. Generous. Good for her. Here. Read what she said to me.' She handed him her letter.

He scanned it, then read it again. 'Bloody hell.' He put his elbows on the table and scrubbed his hands through his hair before looking over at Alex. 'Bloody hell.'

xxxxxxxxxxx

Mid-morning, a girl turned up on Alice Penfold's instructions to give Alex some massage – help loosen up the knots and kinks from Layton's sail locker. It left her languorous and wanting more; she summoned Gene.

She was naked, and scented, and silky soft. He was ambushed. 'You're supposed to sleep now, Bolls. Rest. Recover.'

'Not sleepy. Want you. Want your skin.'

He tried a bit feebly to disentangle himself from her. 'Mustn't. Go to sleep.'

'Must. Absolutely, definitely…' She pulled his jersey over his head. '…categorically must.'

She was kissing him in a way that drained all the strength from all his walking-away muscles and diverted it elsewhere.

'Bolls…'

'Best medicine, honey. For both of us.' She was breathing into his ear as her fingers were busy at his waistband. 'Doctor's orders.' She undid a button. 'Tender.' Undid another. '_Loving_.' Slid a zip down. 'Care.'

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

'Oi, Naughty Knickers. You still asleep?'

'Mmno. Snoozing.'

'Got something to ask you.'

She groaned. 'Does it need brainpower?'

'Hope not.'

She stretched noisily and sat up, swinging her legs out of bed and sitting on the edge. Gene sat beside her.

'Thought this was worth checking.'

'What's that, then?' She put her chin on his shoulder and her arms round his middle.

'Will you marry me, Alex?'

She frowned, smiling in puzzlement. 'What?'

'You might have PMS, or PMT or PSST, or whatever the hell it is you get after going through shit. So thought I'd better make sure.'

'PTSD, you nana. Yes, Gene, I'm still planning to marry you in… forty-five and a half hours. But thanks for asking. Appreciate your concern for my mental well-being.' She grinned at him and reached over to kiss him as her hands wandered appreciatively over impressionable bits of him.

'Good. Now then, Bolly. You seem to have forgotten something.' He grabbed her left hand mid-wander, and held it up in front of her face. 'Notice anything?'

All the light went out of her. 'Oh, my love, I know. I'm sorry. I must have lost it on Tuesday night. Had it on when I left the house…'

'You don't remember me telling you when you came round.'

'Telling me what?'

'It was your ring that showed us where you were. Shaz found it by the sail locker. She gave it to me, and I...' He produced the ring like an amateur magician and pushed it gently on to her third finger, '… am now giving it back to you.'

She looked at it for a moment, touching the three stones that blazed in the sunlight pouring through the window; smiled through the tears in her eyes and slid her arms round his neck. 'Thank you…'

_Bind her with fire, and she'll come back to you. _

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

While Gene made them a late lunch, Alex made phone calls. As Ruth wasn't coming to the wedding, she obviously couldn't bring Gene's mother down. Hotel and train were easily booked – she spoke to real people who looked things up in books at good old British Rail. Life in 1982 had its advantages.

She dialled another number. 'Shaz? It's Alex Drake.' They spoke for fifteen minutes, then Alex phoned Hilda Hunt to tell her what had been arranged.

A succession of people rang during the afternoon, either to see how Alex was, or to talk about the wedding, or both. Between calls, they cleaned and tidied the house ready for the influx on Saturday. Or rather Gene made Alex sit and direct operations while he did most of the work. He suddenly saw the place through a visitor's eyes. 'It's not exactly House Beautiful, is it?'

'It's a work in progress. Anyway, no-one's going to give it a thought. They're coming for you and me and the free booze. Thinking of which, when are we going to do the food shopping? It's Good Friday tomorrow – everything'll be shut.'

'No need to worry, Bolls. Carol and Orinoco have got that covered.'

'Really? But…'

'But nothing. It turns out we have fairy godparents, which is just as well, given the distractions of the last couple of weeks. I am told that we need only show up in our posh frocks, and that gala pie, fish paste sarnies, a crate of beer – oh, and a bottle of sweet sherry for you women – will materialise in our kitchen by the time we get back here.'

'But…'

'Best not to ask, Bolls. All sounds very dodgy to me, but they are coppers, so one hopes it's not actually knocked off.'

'_What?_'

Gene chuckled. 'Don't fret, love. They'll lean on some local grocers and get it all buckshee.'

'_Gene!_'

He was grinning at her. 'I love winding you up, Fizzy Knickers.'

'I could definitely go off you. And there's always Cruickshank.'

Once he'd caught her he exacted a pleasing sort of penance from her; Alex didn't seem to mind, although she couldn't really object, what with having her mouth full.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Good Friday began well and got better. Gene's kisses woke Alex from a deep sleep; she'd been dreaming of him researching her body, studying her for a Masters in Alexology; she came up to the day to find him working slowly down her body, caressing and kissing till he reached his destination and sent her into orbit.

She was still shuddering ecstatically as he moved up to lie beside her, rolling her on to her side with her back to him, spooned together for a moment before he slid into her with a groan of exquisite pleasure. Holding her tight against him, he murmured into her ear. 'Will you marry me, Alex?'

'Only if you can make me come again.'

In due course he collapsed back on the pillows, his heart racing, Alex slumped on his chest; he chuckled. 'That's a yes, then, is it?'

She pulled herself up and gazed into his eyes; hair damp with sweat, face alight, eyes smoky, she filled his sight. Filled his heart.

She was grinning as she bent to kiss his mouth. 'That's a yes, and a yes, and a yes, my love.'

'So flaming unjust. I do all the work and you have three times the fun.'

'You're just too good, that's your trouble. Come on, Genius, get up. I'm starving.'

The cat galloped in and took a flying leap on to the bed, marching up and down on Gene's stomach, demanding breakfast and entertainment.

'Now you both mention it…'

Amongst Carol's groceries was a bag of hot cross buns, but no milk or cat food, so Gene headed off to Roman Road. As soon as he was out of the house, Alex picked up the phone.

'Ray? It's Alex Drake.'

'Oh… Er, how are yer?

'Good, thanks to you.'

'Me?'

'I heard what happened. With Layton. I owe you, Ray. We both do.'

'He probably made it sound worse than it were.'

'No, I don't think so. If the three of you hadn't been there, Gene would have been finished and I'd be dead. You saved our lives, Ray.'

The sergeant mumbled something incoherent.

'Ray, listen. We're getting married tomorrow. I know you don't approve of the Guv's choice, but I wish you'd come to the wedding, for Gene's sake. You've known him a long time, seen him through some trouble. He was very hurt that you wouldn't come.'

'I were just a bit… taken aback, that's all. I didn't say I wouldn't come. He didn't give me a chance…'

'So will you? Eleven at Bow Registry Office. Please, Ray. I don't expect you to change your opinion. You don't even have to talk to me. Just turn up and wish him luck.'

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She went with Gene to meet his mother off the one-forty from Manchester Piccadilly. Hilda Hunt looked slighter, less formidable off her own turf, but she marched down the platform carrying her suitcase, greeting her son coolly and offering her cheek for his kiss. She had to be in her mid-sixties, Alex thought, but she was strong and fit and upright. Not to mention her steel trap of a mind. Gene drove them to Bedford Place, a broad, tree-lined Bloomsbury terrace, home to publishers, chunks of London University, and the Penn Club.

'This looks very smart.' Mrs Hunt was impressed, nodding in approval as Gene pushed open the red-painted doors and ushered them inside.

Alex dinged the bell at reception. 'It's a private club for Quakers, but they take non-members as well. It's not grand, but it's comfortable and civilised. Nice part of town, too. I hope it suits you.'

Once she was settled, the three of them walked round the corner to the British Museum for a late lunch. Over sandwiches and tea, Mrs Hunt dug a small box out of her large handbag and gave it to Alex. 'I thought you might like this if you needed something old for tomorrow. It's a gift, mind, not a loan, so I hope you've already got something borrowed.'

In the box, nestled in yellowing tissue paper, was a coil of tiny seed pearls strung on a delicate gold chain. Alex gasped as she lifted it out. 'It must be four feet long. It's exquisite…'

'It was my grandmother's. Made in Oslo for her wedding. It's meant to be twisted into two or three ropes.'

Gene looked surprised. 'Generous of you, Mum, thanks.'

'More than generous.' Alex recognised the gesture; knew it was a mark of approval and was touched. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears as she got up to kiss her future mother in law. 'Thank you. It means more than you know.'

'Glad you like it. Now you two get off. I'm going to treat myself to a look at the Elgin Marbles, then I'll make my way back.' She began to gather her things.

Alex put a hand on her wrist for an instant. 'Do you remember Chris Skelton?'

Gene prompted her. 'My useless pillock of a DC since god knows when.'

'Yes. The cautious young man.'

'That's the one.' Alex smiled. 'He's got a steady girlfriend. Sharon. I think you'll like her. Anyway, they're going to take you out for dinner. There are some nice places two minutes walk away from the Penn Club. I'm sorry we can't, but…'

'I didn't expect it, Alex. But I'm happy on my own. To be honest it's nice to be away from my… from normal routine. Just being here is a treat. And I'm sure two young people don't want to be bored witless entertaining an old woman.'

'Chris will be delighted to see you again, and Shaz was thrilled to bits at the idea of meeting the Guv's mum.'

Gene grunted impatiently. 'Hellfire. Just don't start on embarrassing childhood stories, Mum, please.'

She raised an eyebrow. 'Give me credit, Gene.'

'Er, Mum, before we go, there's something I should tell you. Skelton and Granger will be full of it, and I'd rather you heard it from us than as gossip.'

His mother looked unfazed. 'Spit it out, then.'

'Alex was abducted on Tuesday night…'

'Old news, Gene. That story reached me on Wednesday afternoon.'

'Good god almighty. How?'

'Someone phoned Annie Tyler, who phoned Phyllis Dobbs, who phoned me. I like to know what you're up to, son, and as you tell me bugger all, I rely on my grapevine.'

Gene laughed in disbelief. 'I didn't know you even knew Phyllis.'

'For a supposed detective, there's a frightening amount you don't know, Gene Hunt.'

'Yes, Mum, I'm beginning to realise that.'

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

'I really like your mother.'

'Oh, god. What's wrong with you, woman?'

'What do you mean?'

'A man's entitled to believe that his wife and his mother will be at war from the wedding to the funeral. Gives him a job to do, keeping them from killing each other. You can't even leave me that consolation, seeing as how you're depriving me of a lifetime of mother in law jokes.'

Alex rubbed his thigh comfortingly, but the look she gave him was wicked. 'Don't worry, my love. I've got one or two consolation prizes for you. And you _have_ got a job to do. You're very good at it.' Her hand on his thigh suggested she wasn't referring to inspecting the constabulary.

'Watch it, you floozy. I nearly hit that cyclist.'

She chuckled.

He glared at her. 'And don't think there'll be any of that nonsense once the honeymoon's over. You'll be too busy ironing my shirts and cooking my tea, once you've done my paperwork and wiggled your arse around the office…'

The car swerved as Alex's hand reached critical. Gene screeched round a corner into an empty office car park and slammed on the brakes before could defend himself. He fell on her, growling, tickling her with expertise and vengeful intent, telling her exactly what punishments he was going to impose, showing no mercy as she squealed and screamed and wriggled and flailed, laughing her head off. Then all of a sudden it went quiet as his mouth found hers, and they negotiated a peace.

Breathless, unaccountably warm, they broke apart. But only about three inches apart; he couldn't seem to let her go. 'I think I'll have to handcuff you in future. This hand of yours is dangerous.' He lifted it to his lips and kissed the back of it, then her palm; then he took each finger into his mouth, making her melt as his eyes burned into hers.

'Take me home, Gene. You've got urgent work to do…'

'Urgent? I'd say it was an emergency.' He flicked on the siren and screeched off into the traffic, Alex laughing in glee.

As they turned on to Shoreditch High Street, the radio squawked, and Gene flicked the siren off. It was Cruickshank. 'Gene? thought you should hear this. Saifur Saleh is dead. He was murdered last night in his cell.'

Alex gasped. 'My god.'

'That you, Alex? I'm sorry. There's more. There was a swastika cut into his cheek.'

Gene thumped the steering wheel. 'Fucking _scum_.'

'You probably won't have heard this either. There's a new political party. The New National Front has merged with the British Movement and the British Democratic party. There was a press conference on Wednesday. British National Party, they've called themselves.'

'Grenville was part of this?'

'Yes, Gene, although we're unlikely to prove it now. Word is that he was vying for the leadership.'

Alex took the receiver from Gene. 'So the whole bombing campaign was leading up to this. Playing on people's fears and stoking up racial hatred so the BNP had a flying start.'

'One would assume so, although there's nothing to say that anyone in the constituent movements knew about Grenville's plots.' They were on police radio, which could be picked up by a million curious ears.

'It still took them twenty years to get their seats on Burnley Council.'

'Burnley? What's Burnley got to do with it?' Gene was perplexed. Alex and Cruickshank seemed to share some spooky inside knowledge, and it drove him nuts.

'Something we're keeping an eye on, DCI Hunt.'

'A Hyde sort of something, sir?'

'Sort of, Gene.'

Gene brooded as he drove the rest of the way home, and went straight down to the kitchen when they got in, pouring himself a scotch and knocking it back immediately. 'Want one?' He poured himself another and walked to the window.

'No thanks, honey.' Alex put her arms round him and leaned against his back.

He took another swig of whisky and sighed. 'He's probably best out of it, the poor bastard.'

'Saleh?'

'Yeah. What did he have to live for? Wife and child dead, blood on his hands, no hope of release. Don't suppose he was frightened of dying.'

'No. Full of grief and hatred. Nowhere to go but religion. Jihad.' She thought about what was to come. What Molly's generation would have to face.

Gene pulled away from her, went to refill his glass and light a fag. Tense and unhappy, he perched on the arm of the sofa took a few drags in silence. Alex kept quiet. Eventually he spoke, his voice low. 'What Carteret was shouting in the Mall – all that Nazi vitriol. I've said much the same. What makes me any different to him and his like?

Alex was aghast. 'You're entirely different. Carteret spoke out of conviction. He thought you were a crypto-socialist. Accused you of being a Paki-lover, remember?'

' Did he?

' Just after he shot Womble. Didn't like him much either, being Irish.'

'Bolls, I…'

' You've invited a Bengali family to your wedding. Your best man's from Northern Ireland.'

'All right, I like _them_. Doesn't mean I like all of 'em. Still hear the accent and see the skin colour before anything else. I should introduce you to a man called O'Brien.'

'You don't like anyone you don't know.'

'Suspicious and unfriendly, you mean.'

'No. Well, yes, sometimes. But you're a copper. You see people at their worst. And not everyone's a fan of the police. You learned very early to be wary. And until you're made to question it, you think what you were brought up to think. Your dad didn't like strangers, did he?'

'Foreigners, no. Germans, Japs, French. Arabs. Italians. Russians – god, he hated the Russkies. Funnily enough he didn't mind blacks or Indians. They were on our side in the war, weren't they? Ghurkas. He fought alongside them. Respected 'em. But the Commies – when the Soviets went into Hungary, Dad went out and got hammered, then came home and battered Mum and Stu.'

'Thought you put a stop to that?'

'I was in Germany driving a tank, learning how to retreat from the Russian border. Stu was still at school. Couldn't handle dad on his own.' He took a last long drag of his cigarette and stubbed it out.

'Point is, Gene, even if you dislike someone based only on prejudice, you get past that quite quickly if the individual doesn't match your preconceptions.'

'Run that by me again, in English.'

'Remember Marcus?'

'Neary's poofter boy?'

She smiled, sighing. 'The young gay man, yes.'

'What about him?'

'You treated him like an individual once you discovered he was courageous and honest. You were kind to him. Looked after him.'

'Just doing my job.'

'No, my love.' She went over to him, ran her fingers through his hair. 'It's your nature to be fair and kind. You've been taught to put people in pigeonholes and treat them according to their labels. Asians, gays, Reds, women…'

'Women?' He snorted. 'Don't get me started. And Red shite are the same whatever 'orrible breed they are. Scousers, Gunners, Russkies, United…'

'You're _so_ tribal. I'm amazed you moved more than a mile from Maine Road.'

'Sam was always going on at me about it. And you used to call me a fascist.'

'Did I?'

'Lardy fascist, if I remember.'

She ran a hand affectionately over his beer gut. 'All the more to love.'

'You've gone soft.'

Her hand went south. 'Hope you haven't.'

'Christ, woman. You'll wear it out. I'm not a machine.'

She undid buttons. 'I want a lifetime guarantee. Parts and labour…'

He pulled her skirt up over her hips. 'Regular services…' He slid a hand down her knickers, groaning. 'Plenty of lube…' He pulled off her top. 'Careful handling…' Unsnapped her bra. 'Care of the undercarriage…' He ripped off her knickers. 'And it should, ah, hold up well.' He hissed as she licked his nipple. He retaliated, making her purr.

She pushed him down on to the sofa. 'Better have one more test drive, though, just to make absolutely sure I'm getting the right model.'

'Get in the driving seat, then, Purdey. Put it in gear. No speeding.'

xxxxxxxxxxxx

'At this rate I won't be able to walk down the aisle, Bolls.'

She giggled. 'Me neither.' They lay naked on the sofa, the cat peering down at them from the top of a cushion.

'You're supposed to be convalescing. Rest and recuperation. The doc didn't say anything about relentless shagging.'

'Complaining?'

'No.'

'Just as well.' She traced circles on his chest with one finger. 'If it makes you feel better, it helps me. I meant it when I said it was the best medicine.'

'How d'you work that one out, Bolls?'

'Pulls me back. Knits me together. Every time I feel less like a ghost and more like a lucky, lucky woman.'

'Well… In the light of this new scientific evidence, I think we should have a bit of scran, and then maybe give you one more treatment before the Wombles roll up. What d'you reckon?'

'You're the doctor. I always follow orders when I'm under the doctor.'

They ate the lasagne that Carol had brought for their supper the previous evening, washed down by a Rioja that made Luigi's house red seem palatable.

Gene watched Alex's throat work as she tippped her head back and swallowed the last of her wine. 'You look good in my shirt, Bolls. Especially with nothing on underneath it. Is that what you're going to wear tomorrow? Cos it'd do for me.'

She smiled, the image taking root in her head. 'Well, I had something else in mind, but it'd be different, and it'd save so much time. Okay, will do.'

'On second thoughts, better not. I'd have to rip it off immediately and ravish you on the floor in front of the registrar and the Chief Super.'

'_Mmmmm_.' She eyed him. 'It's giving me ideas…'

They were upstairs in two minutes, but Gene nipped into the bathroom for a piss, and when he went into the bedroom he saw Alex sitting up in bed, knees hugged to her chest, looking distinctly unaroused. 'Love? What's wrong?'

'I've just realised we're getting married tomorrow.'

'Only just realised?' He sat beside her, shoulders touching.

'I mean you… and I… getting _married_. In the_ morning_.'

'Ding dong, the bells are going to chime…' He sang the line, a bit off key, but she didn't even smile. He put an arm round her shoulders. 'Cold feet?'

'Reality setting in, I think.'

'Not too late to reconsider.'

'No. I want to marry you, Gene. I love you more than you'll ever know.'

He let his breath go in a rush. 'Thank Christ for that. I thought…' He tugged her close and kissed the side of her head; tried to pull her round into his arms. But she was still tense, scrunched up, resisting him. 'Then what's worrying you, Bolls?'

She turned her face to his. 'Is this enough for you? How long before the shine wears off and you get bored?'

He was frowning. 'Is what enough? What are you talking about?'

'This. Bed. Don't get angry, Gene, please. I know you love me and I know I make you happy, but what happens in a few years when…'

'Stop. Just stop, Alex.'

'What have I got to offer you except a pretty face and great sex? I'm thirty-six. The pretty face won't be so pretty in five years. Honeymoons don't last for ever.'

He could feel his temper fraying. It was the same bloody row they'd had on Tuesday night. He was about to snap at her when he looked at her face and saw the fear and the sadness in her eyes. _She really believes this crap_. He felt his heart contract. Felt his temper melt away as he realised she'd laid herself wide open to him. Defenceless. And if he got it wrong, he'd hurt her. Lasting damage. _Shit. Don't know how to do this._

He let her go and stood up long enough to kick his trousers off, then got under the covers. 'Come here, Bolls. Come on. You need a hug. So do I. Lie down with me.'

For a moment she didn't budge, then she pulled off her shirt and was in his arms, her skin against his. She was trembling, and he held her tight, one hand stroking her back soothingly. 'Is this about your ex-husband, Bolls? Is this what he left you with?'

'Don't know. Maybe.' Her voice was muffled against his shoulder.

'I'm going to try to explain something to you, Bolls. Not something I'm used to, so don't know if I'll say it right. You asked me think, on Tuesday evening. Turned out I had long hours to do nothing else, waiting to find you. And what it boils down to is that I love you like Blackpool Rock. All the way through. That's all of you, not just the outside. If my todger fell off and your twat closed up, I'd still love you.'

She nestled closer to him. '_Gene_… But…'

'You think I only want you because… I want you.'

'Maybe not only… but mostly. We're so good together. It makes up for the other stuff.'

'What other stuff?'

'Since we met I've given you hell, and driven you mad. You don't think much of my way of doing things, and the only reason you didn't have me transferred a dozen times is because you fancied me…'

'Alex, stop. I'm tempted to say you're talking bollocks, but you'll only say "I told you so". For starters, you're only talking about work, where, yes, you have given me hell. You challenge me all the time, and you stand up to me, which no-one else has the guts to do. Sometimes you're wrong, but sometimes you're right, and sometimes I realise it before I do something really stupid. You do drive me mad with your wild theories and your jargon and your education, but you make me think, which I like. All your ideas – you're like Sam – ahead of your time. It might take me a while to catch up, but once I can see what you're on about, a lot of it makes sense. As for your way of doing things, it's not my way. I've been used to things being done my way for a long time, so you blowing in was a blast of fresh air. Well, more like a sandstorm. It stung. Knocked me sideways. Nearly flattened me once or twice.'

'I'm sorry…'

'Shhh. As well as shaking up CID, you've saved my neck more than once. If the top brass hadn't turfed me out, the Carterets would have finished me if you'd not been fighting my corner. You've taken the brunt of it alongside me. You've been right by my side through all the shite of the past few weeks and you've trusted me and backed me and forgiven me even when you shouldn't have done. More than that. You've turned my life inside out. Shone a light into the dark corners and made me deal with stuff I'd ignored for years. Even this house, for god's sake. You're in it for one morning and you make me see it like a home, not a reminder of what I'd destroyed. Five minutes with my holy terror of a mother and you've built bridges. You've made me a better copper and a better man, Alex. I was only half alive when you turned up. You struck sparks off me, and then you lit a fire inside me. Yes, I love your body. You're beautiful and exciting, and you make me feel like a god. And it's important. But it's only part of you. Part of us. I've never felt so close to another human being as I do with you. I couldn't be more married to you than I am at this minute. Tomorrow's just a public demonstration. I don't need it except to show the world that you're my other half, my perfect match, everything that makes me whole.'

She pulled away from him just far enough so she could see his face.

'Happy now, Bolls?'

She nodded.

'Cat got your tongue?'

She nodded again, with the very beginnings of a smile.

'I hope it's all sunk in because I'll never be able to say all that again.'

She framed his head in her hands. 'You amazing, amazing man. Thank you.' She kissed him softly. 'Thank you.' Another kiss. 'Thank you…' She rolled on to her back, taking him with her. Drew his mouth down to hers, tender and intense. Drew his body inside hers, felt him fill her, body, heart and soul. Complete. No more fear. Only love.

They were woken by insistent hammering on the front door. Cursing viciously, Gene grabbed trousers and shirt and staggered downstairs to let the Wombles in, leaving Alex to follow.

Carol and Roger both had sly grins all over their faces as they regarded the bridegroom, shaggy, rumpled and barefoot. 'Catch you at it, did we?' Womble was trying not to laugh but failing when he heard Carol chuckle.

'Doctor's orders, Orinoco. Essential treatment.'

'Uh-huh…' He might have said more, but Alex trailed downstairs, looking dishevelled and a bit sheepish, dressed in leggings and one of Gene's jerseys.

They all trooped down to the kitchen, and Carol put the kettle on.

'So, all packed, then, Gene?' Womble clapped his hands together, in a chivvying mood.

'Packed. Er… shit. What do I need?'

'Hopeless…' Carol muttered to herself, smiling as she found mugs and tea bags. Alex was on the sofa with Dino in her arms, leaning against Gene, who was kissing her head.

Womble chuckled at the sight of them. 'What have you done to him, Alex? Don't answer that. Come on then, Herbie. Let's get you packed, you love bug.' Womble herded Gene ahead of him and the two women heard their men clumping up two flights of stairs, Gene grousing and Womble laughing at him.

Carol was playing with Dino when the men came back down ten minutes later, a small holdall in Womble's hand. 'Roger, come and meet their kitten. He's adorable.'

Dino rolled over winningly, looking at Womble upside down, teeth showing, waving a white paw at him. Womble fell for the ruse and pushed his hand through the waving paws and gave him a full-on tummy rub. Dino latched on gleefully with all four sets of claws plus needle teeth, and got a big dipper ride as Womble tried to shake him off, shouting in pain.

'Forgot to mention he's a little bastard.' Gene was chuckling as the cat finally let go and flew up to Gene's shoulder, peering round at Womble with a look of wounded innocence.

Womble rubbed his injured hand, disgusted. 'Right, let's get going before I lose too much blood.'

Gene went to Alex. Pulled her into his arms. 'Don't have to go, you know.'

'Yes, you do. Roger's got to give you the best man's talk. Birds and bees, all that stuff.'

'And Carol's going to do the same for you?'

'No. We're going to get drunk, watch porn and compare notes.'

'Pair of floozies.' He leaned his forehead against hers. 'You will be there tomorrow?

'Nothing's going to stop me from marrying you in the morning.

'Not going to do anything idiotic between now and then?'

'Carol will make sure I don't. She's got handcuffs.'

He groaned and pulled her against him. 'Cuffs… is she going to leave them here as my wedding present?'

Womble felt Gene's collar and pulled him off Alex. 'Right – that's it! Out, Romeo.' Still clutching the DCI's collar, Womble shoved Gene towards the stairs like a reluctant drunk.

'Oi! Put me down…'

'Nope. Git up them stairs.'

Gene managed to snatch one last kiss from Alex at the front door, then the two men were in Womble's car and gone.

Over the road, a dark-suited copper sat in a dark car, watching impassively as the two women retreated into the house and closed the door.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

_TBC_

_xxxxxxxxxxxx_

_A/N: The British National Party was formed from the NNF, the BM and the BDP, with the merger being announced to the press on 7th April 1982 in a hotel in Victoria, London. Three BNP councillors were elected to Burnley Borough Council in the local elections of 2002._

_Grenville, the Carterets and the bombing campaign are purely fictional constructs and have no basis in fact and no connection with any real individuals, living or dead, or with any actual organisations._


	39. Promises, promises

_As ever, thanks to Wombledon for a fab job as beta. She knows this story better than I do. Thanks also to DeterminedStockings for her invaluable and expert advice on 1980s civil wedding ceremonies._

_A/N: Given the length of time it's taken to finish this fic, you may need to go back a little to refresh your memory. If you don't have time to read the whole story, I'd suggest picking it up at ch36. Then read on…_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

By the time Cruickshank turned up at ten sharp, Shaz and Carol had their glad rags on, and Alex was ready but for dress, jacket and shoes. Her witnesses hugged her and left her with her stand-in father.

Chief Superintendent Brian Cruickshank, six foot five and in his dress uniform, was an impressive figure by any standard, and Alex, barefoot and wrapped in a dressing gown, felt quite childlike as she looked up at him. 'Sorry to greet you like this, Brian, but I don't want to risk the dress till the last minute.'

'Don't apologise. It has a certain charm. And your hair looks beautiful. Those pearls are stunning.' He bent and kissed her cheek. 'How are you feeling?'

'I have no idea. Coffee?' She'd registered his remark on her hair: a 21st century metrosexual out of his time. He was right, though. Shaz's mum had come early to do Alex's hair, threading Hilda Hunt's antique seed pearls through her hair so she looked like a Medici princess.

She took Brian down to the kitchen and they sat watching sparrows squabbling on the canal towpath in the sun as they drank their coffee.

'Are you ready for this, Alex?'

'Yes. I think so. No. I don't know, Brian.' She laughed softly.

'Sounds about right for zero plus…' He checked his watch. '…forty-nine minutes.' He had a gaze almost as piercing as Gene's. 'But most brides haven't been through what you have in the last month, let alone Tuesday night's little fandango. Are you fit, to start with?'

'Yes. Fine. I've done nothing but sleep and eat for the last three days. Been fussed over like a prize heifer.'

'So you're sure?'

'I'm sure of Gene. He's the only thing I am sure of.' She told him about going back, about Molly and the hospital, about dying in 2008. 'I came back to him, Brian. Left my world and came back for Gene. I'll never be able to tell him. You're the only person who will ever know or understand.'

'Understand? I understand about loving someone that much. I have no idea where we are, what state we're in, or why you and I and Jim landed up here together.' He took her hands in his. 'But this feels as real as anything in 2005, so if you've found happiness here, grab it and live it, Alex. Nothing else matters.'

She felt her heart clench with love for him. Entirely different to what she felt for Gene, but she was close to Brian in a way she could never explain to anyone in 1982. He knew the only secret she would ever keep from Gene, and sharing the burden with him bound them close as twins.

She dabbed at her eyes and laughed, rather damply. 'Just as well I'm wearing waterproof mascara. Didn't think I'd need it this early.'

He squeezed her hands. 'Nearly time to go. You'd better go and put some clothes on.'

She smiled, touching the row of ribbons on his chest. 'Wasn't expecting all this finery. You'll put everyone in the shade.'

'I want to be sure that Gene realises I'm giving you away to him.'

'That's, er, very paternal of you, Brian.'

'It's ludicrous male posturing, Alex, but a dog must have his day.'

'Don't make me cry again.'

'If I'm very careful not to mess up your hair-do, can I give you a fatherly hug?'

He held her gently, but for longer than a father might. Alex thought it was as well she couldn't see his face. He pushed her away firmly and turned her round. 'Go on. Don't want to keep the lucky bastard waiting.'

She came down ten minutes later to find Brian at the front door talking to DC Hague. The dour copper's eyes widened as he saw Alex, and Cruickshank turned round.

'Oh, _Alex_… You look perfect. Timeless. Beautiful.' He gazed at her for a moment, then cleared his throat. 'So. Shall we go?'

DC Hague stepped back to let them past, and then PC O'Connor was there, holding the door of the Jaguar open for Alex and smiling fondly. 'You look really lovely, Ma'am.'

They were there with ten minutes to spare, so O'Connor parked in a side street out of sight of any look-out posted at the registry office. Cruickshank had told Alex a shaggy dog story that lasted all the way there and made her giggle, but the nerves hit her as they sat in the car for the last few minutes.

He took her hand. 'Still time, Alex. Kieran can point the car north and we can head for the Scottish border. Or Heathrow. Ronnie Biggs says Rio's very pleasant.'

'It's tempting, Brian, but…'

'Then may I be the last to kiss the single girl?' Without waiting for her answer, his hands framed her face and his lips touched hers; their first and last kiss.

He squeezed her hand, and gave O'Connor the nod; the XJ6 pulled up outside the door of the registry office at twelve minutes to eleven, and having handed Alex out of the car, Cruickshank donned his cap, took her arm and they went through the door.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Gene had felt fine until he'd seen the little crowd waiting for them. Smiling faces crowding round him, kisses and handshakes, excited laughter and a babble of voices, and suddenly it hit him. Carol, pinning a pink rosebud through his buttonhole, asked him a question, but it slid over him. 'Sorry, love. What did you say?'

She grinned. 'Just asked if you got any sleep.'

'Yeah, thanks.' He hadn't slept well without Alex, but he hadn't expected to sleep at all. 'How is she?'

'Absolutely fine. Looks lovely. So do you, by the way. If she doesn't marry you, I might.' She planted a big noisy kiss on his cheek and got a smile out of him; she wiped his cheek free of lipstick. 'Mmm. Smooth. Wet shave this morning?'

'And a bloody hair cut. Up at sparrowfart thanks to my so-called best man. Primped and preened like a Crufts poodle.'

'Believe me, my dear, it was worth it. You look the business. That suit…' Carol puffed out her cheeks in admiration. 'And the cufflinks…'

'Wedding present from Alex. Bees, look.' He shot his cuff to show her.

'Bees?' Carol shook her head in puzzlement.

'Symbol of Manchester. Don't know how she knew.'

Carol chuckled. 'She is a detective...'

'Oh, yeah.' Gene gave her a sardonic smile, and felt a heavy hand on his back; turned to see Dorney, City-smart in pinstripes, beaming.

'Well, well, Hunt. Looks like you won our bet.'

'Don't speak too soon, sir. She's not here yet.'

A familiar face lobbed up then, looking twitchy in a blue suit. 'Guv.'

'Ray.' Gene nodded, and stuck his hand out. 'Thanks for coming, mate.'

His sergeant actually blushed.

Then the usher was calling bride, groom and witnesses into the room, and Womble was explaining to him that Alex wasn't there yet; Carol and Shaz were standing with Womble, the three of them looking far too relaxed.

Gene lit up for a swift smoke to stop his hands shaking, suspended between wild excitement and terror. He wasn't even sure if the terror was about Alex not turning up and leaving him jilted, or Alex turning up and expecting him to go through with it.

Suddenly the waiting was over. The bride walked in clutching Cruickshank's arm, and Gene had never seen anything more beautiful in his life – not even in his imagination. She looked like a blush rose from some poet's fantasy and for a second the thought flashed through him that she was marrying Cruickshank. They looked so well suited, so good together, that when they walked up to him, and Cruickshank handed her into his embrace, he was almost taken by surprise until Alex kissed him.

Her eyes were shining for him, one palm caressing his face. 'Morning, my love. Sure about this? You've still got time to escape.'

Gene had no idea which emotions were running riot in his body, but there were several of them, and they were making him dizzy. That, and the sight and sound and touch and scent of this glorious woman not two inches away and apparently willing to marry him.

'I did try to persuade her to run away with me, but for some unfathomable reason she's set on marrying you. Lucky bastard.' Cruickshank's smile took the sting out of his words, but Gene knew they were nothing but the truth.

Looking at Alex, her hand in his, Gene replied. 'I can't understand it either, but that's women for you.'

Alex smiled and squeezed his hand, but before either of them could speak, the usher urged them inside.

An attractive young woman, smiling warmly, walked forward to meet them, shaking Alex's hand, then Gene's. 'Hello, Ms Drake. I'm Julia Campbell, the superintendent registrar. I'll be conducting your wedding ceremony.' Turning to Gene, she shook his hand. 'Delighted to see you again, Mr Hunt.'

He gave her a wry smile. 'Sounds like some blokes don't come back after the first interview.'

She laughed. 'Some blokes don't.' She introduced her deputy as Bernard Iffley; a small, dour man in his fifties, he looked startlingly like Droopy the cartoon dog.

Alex introduced the witnesses, and they went through the last details for the formalities. That done, Gene asked for a moment before the guests were asked in to the room, and took Alex's hand to lead her a few feet away from the others. 'Wanted to thank you for my bees.'

'Like them?'

'Love em. Perfect. Thoughtful, Bolls.' He pulled a tissue-wrapped package from his pocket. 'These come with my love, Alex. Thank you for agreeing to marry me. Thanks for turning up. Thanks for changing my life.'

He watched her face as she teased open the layers of tissue, and saw her smile as she touched the pearls.

'So beautiful. It's a lovely generous gift, my love. Thank you.' She was saying much more with her eyes, and the warmth of her unspoken promises spread through him like sunrise.

She was holding the necklace out to him. 'Put it on for me.'

He undid the clasp as she turned round, and he took his time fastening the double strand around her neck, noticing the roughness of her raw silk jacket against the long linen dress shaped to show the lines and curves of her body. What colour was that? Pink. Rose. No. Raspberry ice cream; topped by the rich creamy silk. Good enough to eat. The clasp fastened, he bent and kissed her neck, breathed in her scent, felt the warmth of her body and longed for the day's end when she'd lie in his arms, naked except for the pearls glowing against her lustrous skin.

'I love you, Alex.' The words weren't enough, but she seemed to like them.

'Are you both ready?' The registrar's voice broke the bubble, and they were shown to their chairs before the guests were ushered into the room.

Gene saw his old mum, looking younger than he remembered, sitting down with Dorney and Alice Penfold. Ray and Chris, looking uncomfortably smart; Mirza and his father, sitting at the back until Shaz beckoned them forward to sit next to Cruickshank, who bent sideways and whispered something that made the child giggle.

Two people Gene longed to see: Sam Tyler, and his kid brother Stu. Dead too young, and missed every day. Sam would have loved this. Would probably have blubbed, the scrawny unshaven Mary.

His attention snapped back to the present. He clocked the boss registrar bird taking charge. Hellfire. This was it. No more messing around.

Miss Campbell asked him and Alex to stand, at which point Gene's mind went into freefall for the rest of the morning. When prompted, he responded, repeated and declared as the law required, and heard bits of Alex's words, when she looked at him. Swore he was free to marry, heard her swear the same. Heard everyone standing up behind them. He took the ring from Womble and put it on Alex's finger, repeated the words after the registrar and saw the tears in Alex's eyes as he spoke. He held his left hand out – almost completely steady – for Alex to push the ring on his finger, and watched her face as she agreed to take him as her husband. The tears threatened to fall; her voice shook a little and she clutched at his hand once the ring was on, holding him fast as Julia Campbell declared them married.

Married, to Alex. Bolls. DI Fruitcake Fizzy Knickers Drake. Not Drake now. Fizzy Knickers Fruitcake Hunt. Mrs Alex Hunt. He tried several variations, and liked them all. Remembered something. Turned to the registrar. 'Is this when I get to kiss her?'

Julia's face cracked into a new moon of a smile. 'Yes, Mr Hunt. You may now kiss your bride.'

Gene took Alex's face between his hands and touched his mouth to hers. 'Hello, wife.' He spoke softly, just for her ears, then kissed her again.

'Husband.' Alex grinned, and kissed him back, and suddenly they were lost in kisses of such intensity and passion, wrapped around each other, that Womble had to step forward and shake Gene's arm firmly, hissing into his ear.

'Hey, Lovebug. There are other people in the room. Save it for later.'

They broke apart like teenagers caught behind the bikesheds; Gene registered the smattering of applause and approving laughter as he watched Alex blushing, and hoped his erection wasn't too obvious. The two of them were steered over to a table where he, Alex and their two witnesses signed the register under Droopy's unsmiling guidance. Signed and sealed. Legal. Solemn and binding.

'Ladies and gentlemen, please stand. In a moment, Mr and Mrs Hunt will lead you out, but before that my last duty is to present the couple with their marriage certificate.' Julia handed the document to them, and Alex took charge of it.

'Evidence,' she whispered to him, a wicked smile on her lips.

The registrar gave them a last encouraging smile, and turned to the guests. 'May I ask you once more to congratulate the bride and groom, Alex and Gene…'

xxxxxxxxxx

Impatient to get home, Gene stood only a couple of minutes of posing for photographs on the steps before whisking Alex off to Cruickshank's car, loaned to them for the journey back. As he was about to get in, Gene was stopped by Carol.

'In case you think you're being burgled when you get home, Luigi will be there getting lunch ready. Lou Penfold's there too. And Mirza's mum, doing the flowers.'

'Hell's teeth, Carol. Rocco Forte there and all?'

'They offered, Gene, so how could we deny them?' Carol winked at him, pushed him gently into the car and shut the door.

Alex leaned forward to speak to Cruickshank's driver. 'Put your foot down, Kieran. Blues and twos.' She snuggled up to her husband, hands snaking beneath Gene's jacket in a possessive manner. 'Want you to myself before they all arrive.'

He pushed a hand under her arse and the other round her back and pulled her closer. 'Sounds like a plan.' The kiss lasted till the car reached the house, a brief six minutes later; and it took Gene another thirty five seconds to get Alex through the front door and upstairs, giggling, hoping that they hadn't been noticed. Hushing her, Gene closed the bedroom door silently then yelped as Alex goosed him and ran her hands over his arse. He turned and grabbed her shoulders, holding her away from him.

'You _are_ a tart. Bloody marvellous. You –'

'I'm claiming my marital rights.' Her hands wandered south. 'If there's ever a day to test your wedding tackle…' She unzipped his trousers, not to be denied.

'We've only been married for ten min–' His protest was stopped by her mouth on his, and he let her have her legal way with him. Trying to keep quiet, giggling like shagging adolescents with parents downstairs, they had fast, joyful, muffled sex; had anyone been outside the door, the breathless laughter, moaning, and muted squealing coming from the bedroom might have given the game away.

Alex, still leaning against the wall to support her trembling legs, watched chuckling as Gene pulled his clothes back into place. 'Look at you. Cats and cream don't come into it. Mr Smug of Smugville.'

He gave her a slow, lascivious smile. 'Wedded. Bedded. Job done.' He stood tall and sauntered across to her, pulling her into his arms and looking down at her. 'No going back now, Bolls. You're mine.'

She put his arms round his neck. 'It works both ways, you know.'

'Oh, yes. I'm yours, Alex. Every last shred of me, yours.'

When Gene had gone downstairs, Alex took off her short jacket and twisted to see in the mirror whether the dusky pink dress was very badly crushed. She reckoned she'd get away with it, if she could rescue her hair.

A tentative knock, and Shaz's face appeared round the door. 'How are you doing, Alex? The Guv said you were titivating.' She giggled. 'Sounds a bit naughty.'

The bride grinned. 'It was. Very.'

Shaz rocked with laughter. 'So that's why you took off so fast. Good for you!'

Expecting the guests from the registry office clustered around a few assorted bottles and a selection of Tesco's finger food, Alex came downstairs to find the house full of flowers, more people, and Luigi in his only-for-best sparkly jacket, pouring champagne into a tray of flutes. The Italian looked up and saw his _bellissima signorina_; with a cry of delight he brought her a glass of champagne, kissed her hand and both cheeks. 'Now you are my _bellissima signora_…' A long stream of Italian endearments followed until he was forced to give way to other wellwishers; Alex was kissed and hugged and praised till her head was spinning.

Over the following days, she remembered her wedding day in flashes, like scenes in a movie trailer. Her first sight of Gene, which made her knees buckle so that she had to clutch tighter to Cruickshank's arm. She'd never seen him look so good in a grey wool three piece suit, silk tie the colour of his eyes, crisp cotton shirt, and her cufflinks. His hair looked blonder when it was short, she noticed. Womble had obviously lost the battle over the snakeskin boots, but Alex had grown to love them in a perverse sort of way. Her bridegroom looked so mouth-watering she had to fight hard to resist the urge to rip the gorgeous clothes off him in front of the registrar.

She'd look back on the afternoon and remember odd fragments. Luigi, with Lou Penfold as his sous chef, producing trays of colourful, aromatic food; Mirza's small siblings commandeered by Hilda Hunt and Dorney, then kidnapped by Shaz and Lou; a thoroughly over-excited Dino leaping from the top of the door on to Luigi's shoulder and the consequent dropping of a tray of cutlery; Dino stealing bits of fish from Hilda's plate; Dino hanging off Womble's sleeve, growling and gnawing buttons while Womble ignored him. Mirza's mum Zunaira deep in conversation with Shaz; Ray and Cruickshank arguing about cars; the Penfolds and Carol standing by the window talking gardens; Luigi being gallant, flirting with Gene's mother.

And the bet. When Luigi came upstairs with a silver tray on which was a plate and an open tin of Pedigree Chum, Alex watched in growing horror as the restaurateur handed the tray to Gene, who scooped out half the tin of Pedigree Steak in Gravy and presented it to his senior officer with a fork and a napkin. 'Gyatso's dinner for you, sir.'

Dorney was laughing, but resisted the plate, protesting. 'Really, Hunt…'

Gene didn't budge. 'A bet's a bet, sir.'

The chanting started, then. Ray and Chris started it, but within seconds, the entire room were at it, clapping in time. 'Down! Down! Down!'

Alex watched Dorney square up to the challenge, accepting the plate from Gene and taking a mouthful. Huge cheer. The upper crust copper looked surprised. 'This is really quite good.' And took another mouthful as his audience cheered again.

Luigi whipped the plate away from him before he ate any more, and put a fresh glass of bubbly in his hand, which Dorney swigged back gratefully.

There were speeches, all of which made Alex cry. Cruickshank stood up first and told stories about Alex, then pulled out a piece of paper. 'This seemed to sum up this marriage. It's from Robert Frost. "Two such as you cannot be parted nor be swept away from one another once you are agreed that life is only life forevermore together."'

One of the twins broke the emotional silence with a squawk, which prompted applause; as Gene stood up there were surreptitious sniffs and clearing of throats.

Minus jacket, minus tie, with his waistcoat unbuttoned and shirt open at the throat, Alex thought her husband looked sexier than any pin-up that had graced a screen, however reluctant he was to stand in the limelight.

'Ah. Er…' He shifted from one foot to the other and sucked in a deep breath. 'For once in my life I am, er, speechless.' He held up empty hands to prove it. 'I didn't expect all this. Can't believe it, really. I, er… Hmm. Best day of my life. Thanks to everyone here for making it so bloody marvellous.' He looked down at Alex for a moment. 'This woman here asked me yesterday why I wanted to marry her. Apart from not being able to keep my hands off her, that is.'

She felt herself blush crimson, but couldn't look away from him, especially when he smiled at her, the rare, sweet smile that she loved.

'I told her why then, and now I'm going to tell you, in case there's anyone who's still wondering.'

From the corner of her eye Alex saw Ray examining his fingernails, the flush on his neck giving him away.

Gene took a breath and continued. 'Alex Drake blew into my world nine months ago and turned everything upside down, inside out and back to front. I was knocked arse over tit – sorry, Mum, head over heels – and I didn't like it. Tried ignoring her. Impossible.' That got an innocent smile from Alex, and a ripple of laughter.

'Tried scaring her off but she's got more courage than the Anchor Brewery. I started looking forward to each day because that might be the day I could fire her.'

Ray snorted, which prompted another laugh.

Ignoring his sergeant, Gene continued. 'It was a nasty shock when I twigged that I looked forward to the day because she'd be in it. Driving me bloody mental and giving me endless bloody grief, and lighting up any room she walked into. It was an even nastier shock when she almost got herself killed by two bits of pondlife with a large freezer.' He reached down for Alex's hand and squeezed it. 'Because I realised at that point that I couldn't live without her.'

Alex squeezed back.

'Didn't think I had a cat's chance, mind, but a scummy bastard family did us a big favour. They kept trying to kill us, but all that did was to push us together and make life more precious. But I've still not told you why I wanted to marry her.' He took a swig of champagne. 'I have to tell you that this posh fruitcake here was prepared to live over the brush, but I, being a pillar of moral rectitude – as you all know…' One or two guffaws erupted from amongst the general laughter, '…was not. Alex Drake was everything I wanted. Courage and integrity and resilience. Good education and the intelligence to use it.' He looked round at his team, daring them to contradict him. 'From Day One you'll remember how much I admired her theories and beliefs.' The team all nodded furiously and muttered agreement. 'She's tough as hell and never gives up, but she's gentle and compassionate and kind to those who need it, even if they don't deserve it. Me, for instance.' He paused for a long moment, looking down at her, still holding her hand, his thumb stroking her wrist before looking round at his audience. 'But you don't want to know about all that.'

In her peripheral vision Alex could see disappointed faces hungry for more of this rare glimpse behind the wall, and felt a rush of exhileration to know that Gene had let her in and given her a key.

Gene met her gaze and held it, suddenly and entirely serious. 'You brought me back to life, Alex, and you make me whole. Marrying you is the best way I can show the world the depth of my admiration, my respect, and my love.'

He sat down abruptly and knocked back the glass of champagne that Cruickshank handed him, cheers ringing round the room as Alex leant across and kissed him.

Once glasses had been refilled and cigarettes lit, Womble struggled out of the sofa and looked round at the assembled throng in a theatrical manner. 'Now, ladies and gentlemen, as the best man, it's my duty to embarrass the groom and give his wife the means to torment him throughout their long and happy marriage...'

He'd done his research. Stories emerged about Gene going back through nearly three decades of his career and earlier, finally revealing the truth about Mrs Murphy's poodle, which had Gene burying his head in his hands and Chris doing a little victory dance of glee to the soundtrack of raucous laughter, quelled only by the toast to the bride and groom.

There was a cake. The full three tiers, beautifully made by Luigi's cousin Enzo's wife, with a little bride, a policeman and a red car on the very top; someone took photos as Alex, Gene's hand over hers on the knife, cut the bottom layer.

They took a piece of wedding cake out to PC O'Connor and promised to send him out another mug of tea, then Gene took Alex across to No82 to meet Mrs Finch. The sharp-eyed Londoner broke into a delighted smile when Gene introduced her.

'Ah, luvvie, don't you look a picture in your party frock? I'm glad to see you in one piece after all that nonsense on Tuesday.'

She wanted to know everything that happened, but Gene forestalled her, promising to tell her everything after they got back.

'Going on holiday?'

'Honeymoon. It's our wedding day.'

Mrs Finch gawped. 'You called her your wife…'

Gene shrugged. 'Yeah, well. She was, near as a dammit. We only needed the rubber stamp. Which is why I'm stood here with cake and fizz.' He handed them to Mrs Finch, who bit her lip in pleasure.

She raised the glass to them. 'A long and happy life, my dears. All the best.' She threw most of the champagne back in one go, and smacked her lips. 'Kind of you to come over. Appreciate it. Come back and have tea with me soon. But you bugger off now back to your knees-up. Have a dance for me.'

They got back to the house to find Ray on the floor with Mirza playing with a digger and a dumper truck that he'd brought with him. In a group with the Penfolds, Luigi, the Wombles and Dorney, Hilda Hunt had the cat purring in her arms, upside down with one paw waving languidly; Chris was talking computers to Cruickshank and Mirza's father; Lou and Shaz were playing with the babies.

Alex put her hand on Gene's arm as she shut the front door. 'Wait a minute.' She turned him to face her, sliding her arms round his waist. 'Look at them. See how much you're loved?'

Uncomfortable with such talk, Gene shifted, but she hung on to him. 'You're not alone and you never will be. Look at the quality of the people around you – bright, brave, loyal, kind. Good people. All ages, all points of the compass.'

'That's your doing, Bolls.'

'No, Gene. They're here for you. It's only your mum who needed persuading by me and that's because you're too alike. Proud and bloody stubborn.' She nuzzled at his chin, leaning against him and reaching for a kiss.

Gene pulled his head away from her, teasing. 'Stubborn? I'm an amateur next to you, Mrs Muffin.'

She chuckled, and opened her mouth to retort, but got kissed instead.

A bit later, she saw Gene and Hilda in the garden, heads together as they talked. She watched for a minute, pleased beyond measure to see the fractured relationship being mended. Thought about her parents, about what she'd learned here, what she'd been able to salvage. And what she'd lost. Gene and Hilda had the chance to heal the past and make a future for themselves, and she'd do whatever she could to encourage it. Not just for Gene's sake, either. Even at short acquaintance, she'd made a friend of Hilda Hunt; liked her sharp wit and admired her resilience, recognised the grief – not just of burying a child, but losing the one still alive.

_Later that night Gene told her that his mother had been tearful when he found her in the garden. 'Haven't seen her cry since I was a kid, Bolls. Thought she'd grown a thick enough shell that nothing got through to her.'_

_'What upset her? Did she tell you?'_

_Gene nodded. 'She said I looked so much like my father. Same smile. For her, seeing me happy…' He shook his head and blew out a long breath. 'She and my dad were happy before the war, you know. They'd go dancing. Jitterbugs, the pair of 'em. Won prizes. She was only nineteen when she had me. Married at seventeen. He was only two years older. Kids, that's all they were. Bastard war destroyed them.'_

_Alex rubbed his chest and kissed his shoulder. 'Seeing you made her think how things might have been.'_

_'Yeah. Dad, Stu…' He stopped. Took a long breath. 'She's been… She thought I didn't…'_

_He lay back and looked up at the ceiling. 'All these years. Christ, Bolls…'_

_'It's mended now. She's got you back, and you can start to make up the time. She's still young, your mum. We can go up to Manchester as often as you like. And she could come and stay with us for a bit, maybe.'_

_Gene said nothing._

_She pulled herself up on her elbows so she could see his face. 'Honey?'_

_He raised his head and looked at her through narrowed eyes. 'Me living with the two of you? I wouldn't stand a bloody chance, would I?'_

_Alex's laugh turned into a squeal as he pushed her over and fell on her, growling._

Nothing but smiles here today, she thought, even if some of them are a little tearful. Weddings are the time for unguarded emotions and open hearts. New connections, renewed friendships, possibilities and plans being made. Life being lived. She felt deep down happy, settled and stable for the first time since… No, for the first time. She shook her head at the irony of it all, then obeyed the summons from Zunaira and Shaz to join them and revel in being queen for a day.

When Gene and Hilda came back up from the garden, Shaz jumped to her feet so Hilda could sit down, then came to speak to Alex. 'You've got a hi-fi system, haven't you?' She waggled a tape, the cassette rattling in its plastic case. 'Chris and I compiled some music. Let's get everyone dancing, or they'll go to sleep.'

Alex discarded her jacket and pulled Gene to his feet as the music kicked in. '_Rescue me, oh, take me in your arms…_' She felt his hand on her bare shoulder, the other on her back where the dress curved in a deep scoop. Felt his body pressed against hers before she stepped away from him, turning under his arm and coming back to his embrace. He'd been a 1950s teenager, he husband, so she expected him to know how to dance, but he was a smooth mover. Sexy. She moved closer and looked into his eyes, caught by the fire in their depths. Felt herself melting against him, forgetting where she was until the music faded and their dance was over.

Recognising the introduction to the second track, Alex murmured in Gene's ear. 'Ask your mother to dance, Gene.'

With a hint of a smile, he left her and went to his mother, helping her up and ignoring her protests. 'Just this one, Mum. You can't say no to me today. It's the law.'

Hilda Hunt allowed her son to lead her through _As time goes by_, and Alex watched their faces as they danced, in step with each other for the first time in Gene's adult life.

She felt a hand on her arm and turned to find Cruickshank at her shoulder, uniform jacket and tie abandoned. 'Dance with me, Alex. I think this is our tune.'

A few numbers later, the unmistakable first bars of Bowie's _Jean Genie_ had the Fenchurch East crew dancing around their Guv as he strutted and pouted in an Jagger-inspired dance. Then Ray and Chris magicked Blues Brothers trilby hats and shades from somewhere and did a stunning double act as Jake and Elwood declaring _Everybody needs someone to love_. In his stride and fuelled by applause, Chris got the women up – from Lou to Hilda – to sashay, wiggle and shake their tail feathers, to the delight of the menfolk.

Aside from the fact that she'd acquired a husband that morning, Alex was having the time of her life. Their friends had conspired to give them the perfect wedding, and whatever the future held, she'd look back at Easter Saturday 1982 and see nothing but happy memories.

By seven thirty they were on their way. Alex was driving, having been given the car keys by her genially pissed husband, and they'd pulled away from the house leaving the Wombles and Lou Penfold to clear and lock up. As they left, Alex had clocked the car parked in Ellesmere Road with a clear view of the house, a dark figure sitting at the wheel: another of Cruickshank's impassive guards who she knew would keep watch over the house as long as needed.

xxxxxxxxxxx

'Freet? What the hell is freet? Can't say I like the sound of mool, come to that.' Gene was kicking off about lunch.

Alex was trying again to persuade him to try French food, since they were in the right place for it. They were in France for the week, after two nights in a pretty hotel on the edge of Blackheath; on Monday morning they'd headed south towards the coast and the ferry to Calais.

The Chief Super was lending them the Dorney holiday home in Le Touquet – a tiny house on Rue de Londres, simple, clean and comfortable. In the heart of the old village, the house was five minutes stroll from the sea, two minutes from the market and three from any number of bars and restaurants. On their first day Gene had found all the places which served ale and English food, but by Thursday he was opting for the _plat du jour_, and nipping out to the market each morning for croissants and small, sweet Charentais melons to eat in bed with Alex. She was yet to persuade him to try _moules frites_, however.

Their days and nights were spent wandering, eating, bickering, sleeping, and having a lot of sublime sex. When it rained it was the perfect excuse to retire under the duvet; when the sun shone they made love in the warmth streaming through the big windows on to the great squashy bed.

They talked about Gene's last few weeks in the Met, and the new consultancy business. There was a growing threat not just from the IRA but increasingly militant groups attached to CND, and the ALF, plus the Carterets' erstwhile friends on the extreme right of the political spectrum. 'Orinoco's got to be one of the best experts in London, with the number of bastards he's dealt with. MI5 isn't going to get out of bed unless they've got wind of spooky doings, and there's businesses wetting themselves about bombs in the boardroom. So that's one lot. Then there's all the Big Swinging Dicks in the City snuffing up cocaine and Christ knows what else. Banks and traders don't want the police sniffing around and upsetting sensitive clients, so they're desperate for help to sort out potential scandals.'

Alex tried not to look sceptical. 'And that's you? Mr Tact-and-Diplomacy?'

He growled at her. 'Silver-tongued devil, Bolly, that's me. As you can testify.'

She stifled at giggle. 'Mmmm. Do I sense a demonstration coming on?'

Gene's hand snaked down her body and began the diplomatic process. He really could be remarkably persuasive, thought his wife. Pity he couldn't use the same technique on potential clients, but she was reserving all rights.

Alex even found the solution to telling Gene about her past, once she realised that in many ways, life hadn't changed much in thirty years. Kids ate beans and fish fingers, and wore dungarees and listened to music under the bedclothes and learned to rebel. Students drank and slept late and ate cheap rubbish and raided charity shops. _Plus ça change_. Even the Met hadn't changed much. Same old rookie-baiting rituals, same idlers and bullies, same sexist crap, same racist crap; internal politics and unwritten laws. It was easy enough to avoid details about technology or culture which would trip her up; she'd had enough practice in the last ten months, after all.

But there was still one huge subject they hadn't touched. Gene never asked. Waited for her to bring it up when she was ready. On Friday morning they'd eaten breakfast in bed and made love afterwards. In nothing but her pearls, Alex was lying against him, basking in the sun, all the tension gone from her body, her mind empty of the fear she'd felt for so long, and her heart full of love. She trusted him implicitly, and knew there'd never be a better time.

'Need to tell you about my daughter, honey. I told you that Molly was living with her father in America.'

Gene's arm tightened around her, holding her a fraction tighter. He kissed her head. 'Yes, love.'

'Did you know I was lying?'

'It didn't sound likely, Bolls.'

'You didn't say anything.'

'I'd have only hurt you, if I had. Hoped you tell me eventually.'

'I'm sorry, honey. I've wanted to tell you about her. But it's the hardest thing – coming to terms with death. Sometimes it takes a long time. You know.'

His hand caressed her skin, comforting, encouraging. 'Mmm. Easier to find another story to fit, eh? Something you can cope with.'

'For a long time I kept seeing her. In the mirror, on the telly, in my dreams. She'd appear sometimes, or I'd just know she was there. If I reached out, or turned to see her, she'd vanish.'

'You don't see her any more?'

'No. When I was on the boat, when I was unconscious, I dreamed I was in hospital. It was me who was dying. Molly was there, and we talked, and she was so alive…' She was crying, then, her voice catching as the memories flooded her. 'I could say goodbye to her… my beautiful girl, and I knew she'd be all right…'

She broke down then, sobbing out her grief, turning into Gene's embrace and clinging to him as she let the truth finally wash the wound clean. The scar would always be there, always ache, sometimes hurt as bad as ever. But it would heal enough to let her love again without reserve.

Gene took her out and they went to the beach, walked for ages, even when the sun vanished behind clouds and the wind picked up. They got back to the old town just as it started raining, and he ushered her into a little café. 'You hungry, love?'

She answered without thinking. 'Not really, but you must be starving.'

'Quite fancy some of them mool freet.'

That startled her out of her melancholy, and she realised she was ravenous. They ate mussels in garlic, wine and cream with twice-fried chips and great hunks of bread, helped by earthenware mugs of Normandy cider, strong and dry.

'What do you think?' She kept her voice light, as though she didn't care about his answer.

Since Gene was scooping up sauce with a spoon and searching for any mussel meat that might have escaped, it was a rhetorical question.

He put his head on one side, considering. 'It's not haddock and chips from the chinky in John Dalton Street, but not bad for Frog nosh.' He sat back and drained the last of his cider. 'What's for afters, then?'

xxxxxxxxxxxx

The place was the same as ever, the smell of tobacco smoke and spilt beer and frying onions, the din from the team table enough to split eardrums less robust than his. Luigi's on a Monday night. Perched on his bar stool watching Luigi pull his pint, Gene felt odd. Detached. It wasn't just that they'd only got back the previous night, or that his entire life had changed in the last week, or that he only had a month left in charge of Fenchurch East CID. All of that, but something else, too. His life was not longer wrapped up in his work. He had a home to go to. A wife. Wife. Alex…

'Quid for them.'

Gene looked round to see Cruickshank beside him. 'A quid? They'd have to be thoughts de luxe.'

'You looked very distant.'

'Lot to think about.' Gene gestured to Luigi and looked questioningly at Cruickshank.

'Pint of best, thanks. Alex on her way?'

'Fannying around reading memos. If she's not here in five minutes I'll go and drag her out.'

Cruickshank planted himself on a barstool. 'Something I have to tell you. Layton's been seen. DC Hague spotted him sneaking down your street on Friday night. Saturday morning, 4am, to be precise.'

'Shit. Did Hague get him?'

'No. Something spooked Layton and he was off. Vanished as though he'd slithered down a hole.'

'Like a chippy rat, too greasy to grab.'

'If he's sneaking around, he's going to be caught. We've got people watching all his haunts, and I've doubled the numbers watching you and Alex. It won't be long before we get him, Gene.'

'Don't let me find him first, Brian.'

'Do you want to keep this from Alex? She's had enough worries –'

'No. We've learned that lesson. No more secrets, however deep the shit. I'll tell her as soon as.'

xxxxxxxxxxx

'Ready for your big night, Boss?' Ray was right behind her, intent on some serious drinking.

'You bet.' Alex threw the sergeant a smile. 'I'll be there in two minutes.' She nodded up at her old flat. 'There's a light on upstairs. I'll just check and be straight back down. Mine's a house red.' She let herself into the main building as Ray headed down the steps to the bar. She trudged up the two flights of stairs thinking how odd it felt to be back here, feeling so long ago that she'd lived here. So much had happened since she'd moved into Chisenhale Road with Gene, but it had only been three weeks. Felt like thirty years. Distracted by memories, she reached her old front door; as she pushed the key into the lock, the door swung inwards. Something… Her heart thumped, and she could feel the icy rush of adrenalin through her body as she stepped into the narrow hallway, instincts bristling, every sense alert to the unknown threat.

She stepped silently into the empty kitchen and could smell something that didn't belong there. Someone. She felt the hairs rise on her arms and an atavistic shudder ripple down her spine. Breath short and shallow, skin prickling, she had to force herself to walk forward. She refused to flee, refused to let the events of the past weeks turn her into a coward. There was nothing there. No-one. Luigi forgot to shut the door properly, that's all. Just felt strange being back here with her stuff gone. Empty places feel weird. Nothing to be scared of.

She took a deep breath and flexed her shoulders, forcing her fear back into its box. She walked through the doorway to the sitting room.

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_The next chapter is the last. It's written and ready to post, so no more waiting, I promise._


	40. Last throw

Where was she? Gene looked at his watch. His missus was late… No, hang on. Alex was never going to be the missus. His better half, yes. His girl. Friend, partner, lover. His wife. Things lurched inside him at the thought. But the missus? Not her style. Not what she meant to him. Not a pigeonhole she'd ever fit. But whatever she was, she was keeping him waiting. He smiled to himself and took a long last drag of his ciggie before stubbing it out, then downed the rest of his ale. Ray hove into view. 'Oi, Carling!' Gene bellowed over the din created by his friends and colleagues crammed round Luigi's bar.

Ray shoved his way through the yammering crowd and fetched up at Gene's shoulder. 'All right, Guv? Ready for another?' He gestured his order to Luigi.

'Seen my bride on your travels?'

'Yeah. She's nipped upstairs. Saw a light on, or something. Said she'd be down in a couple of minutes.'

Luigi shimmered over to their side of the bar and put a hand on the Bass tap, ready to pull the first pint. '_Due birre, signori? Certo_.'

'Make it two Stellas, muchacho.' Ray redirected him, to the astonishment of his Guv'nor.

'Flash, Raymondo. You picked a dog that can actually run, or what?'

'It'll be back to Bass tomorrow. Make the most of it.' Ray took the glass of Stella and pushed it along the bar to Gene. 'Hey, Luigi – you left a light on upstairs.'

The Italian's face creased into a puzzled frown. 'Upstairs, signore?'

'In Alex's old flat. She saw you'd left the light on.'

'No, _assolutamente no_. I have not been there all the week.'

'Then who…' Ray glanced at Gene, who was already off his bar stool and pushing through the packed room towards the stairs. Ray followed, and flicked Chris's shoulder as he passed, gesturing at the DC to follow. 'Could be trouble, come on.'

Brian Cruickshank, sitting with Carol and Womble, noticed the Fenchurch posse heading for the door; instinct pulled him to his feet and he followed them out. Racing upstairs, Brian pushed past Chris and grabbed Gene's arm, pulling him to a halt on the half-landing between first and second floors. 'Wait. We don't know what's in there. Can't go in like the Fifth Cavalry, Gene.'

'Wasting time, Brian.' Gene tried to shake him off. 'It's Layton. I know it's Layton.'

'If you're right, he could have a gun to her head. He'll want you. After what you did to him, he'll be waiting for you.'

'He can have me. Got to get Alex out –'

Cruickshank hit Gene's shoulder with the heel of his hand. 'Don't be a complete fuckwit. Walk in there and you're both dead: Alex first, then you. And who knows who else after that. Stay out here and he's got to wait for you. Hold your fire till you can make it count.' He shook Gene, trying to batter the sense into him.

'What, then?' Gene growled through his teeth.

'Layton doesn't know me. I'll go in as if I'm looking for Alex. Carling and Skelton can cover me. You stay out here and use your head. Wait, Gene. Wait for the moment. Do you hear me?'

Gene was glaring at him, but nodded. It was going to cost him dear, the waiting. Listening for disaster to happen without him. But he knew Cruickshank was right. He beckoned to Ray and Chris, whispered to them. 'Cruickshank's going in. You two cover him. Stay out of sight, and stay schtum. If Layton's in there with Alex, he's probably expecting me. I'm not here, understand? I'm still over the road. Get me?'

The pair nodded, but said nothing. Gene caught movement in the corner of his vision and turned to see Carol and Shaz sneaking up the stairs towards them, with Womble making his way up slowly, his leg still weak from Carteret's bullet. Gene held his palm out to stop them, then swiftly put his finger to his lips.

Brian brushed past him and spoke softly to the two women; they nodded and went back downstairs, taking Womble with them.

'Told them to get everyone out of the restaurant. Don't want to give Layton a room full of hostages, if he's armed,' Cruickshank murmured to Gene as he came back up the stairs.

Gene nodded approval of the senior man's thinking, and the four men made their way to the door of Alex's flat. Once they were in position, Cruickshank tapped on the door and called out as he pushed the door open and walked in slowly. 'Alex? You up here, sweetie?' He sounded cheerful, a bit pissed, off guard.

Man deserves an Oscar, Gene decided as he heard Cruickshank move into the kitchen, scuffing his feet and making the normal sort of noises you'd make if you weren't expecting a killer to be waiting. If they were all wrong and there was no-one in there but Alex having a kip or a shower, he'd be happy enough to take the flak for being paranoid. Please god, he was wrong and he'd get an earful from a wife irritated by his over-protective ways.

Ray, Browning automatic in hand, peered round the door jamb and slid into the flat, followed by Chris. Which left Gene outside, waiting.

Every atom concentrated on listening, Gene heard Cruickshank's voice calling again for Alex. A second later, another voice. Quiet. Muffled by the walls of the flat. Male. _Layton_. Gene couldn't make out the words: they had to be in the sitting room. He didn't hear Alex's voice. Was she alive? Christ. Jesus. God. She must be alive. Unconscious? Gagged, maybe. Layton wouldn't have killed her. She was his bargaining chip, his ticket out. She's alive. She's still alive. Alex. The words ran through his head like a prayer.

It was agonising, this waiting. Thought he'd had his fair share of this down by the river, in the pouring rain. But he'd fucked it up then, nearly let her die because of his lack of control. This time he'd make the waiting count. Below the awareness of every tiny sound was the breath moving in and out of his lungs. Frying onions and tobacco smoke from the basement. Nicks and scrapes in the white gloss of the door frame. Gun heavy in his hand. Heart racing and nausea at the back of his throat.

Suddenly: angry voices from the flat. Scuffling of shoes on bare boards. Shouts. Gun shot: thud and crash. Gene was through the door and into the kitchen. No sign of anyone but Chris, flattened against the wall, the fridge between him and the sitting room doorway. At Gene's silent demand for information, Chris mouthed 'Alex' and mimed legs and arms tied, mouth gagged.

'Ray?' Gene mouthed at him.

'Okay. Disarmed,' Chris answered silently.

'Brian?' Gene knew, but asked anyway.

Chris shrugged ignorance, shaking his head.

Gene moved ten inches to the left, trying to glimpse a bit more of the sitting room. Saw Brian Cruickshank slumped awkwardly against the wall, legs splayed in front of him, blood seeping through the grey wool of his jersey just to the right of his breastbone; his eyes were closed, face screwed up in pain. Couldn't see Ray, Alex or Layton.

Then Layton's voice, low, menacing: 'Where's DCI Cunt?' Threatening Ray. There was the thump of shoe meeting ribs, and Ray's grunt of pain. 'Answer me, you poof.'

Ray mumbled something Gene couldn't catch; Layton snarled in frustration and Gene heard another thump.

If Layton was kicking Ray, he couldn't be holding a gun at Alex's head. This was it. Gene stepped into the room, raised his gun and fired, the deafening blast of the shot crashing round the room.

Chris rushed in and skidded to a halt, redundant; he went to look at Layton, unconscious on the floor beneath the glass table and bleeding from the gunshot wound in his right shoulder. 'Head's bleeding, Guv. He must have hit the table as he went down.'

'Boo hoo. Give the shit a kick.' Gene was concentrating on Cruickshank. Bullet in the chest. It wasn't going to be good. 'What can I do before the ambulance gets here, Brian?'

The wounded man smiled and shook his head. 'Not much.' His voice was a whisper. 'Help Alex.' He closed his eyes.

'Don't you bloody die on me, Brian Cruickshank. No swinging the lead. You hear me?' Gene let fury disguise his fear.

Alex, who'd been sitting in the black swivel chair, arms behind her back, duct tape over her mouth, was shouting against the gag and struggling to her feet to allow Gene rip the tape off her. He left Cruickshank and went to her, trying to get the tape off her wrists. 'He's wrapped you tight, Bolls. Hang on.'

Ray was on his feet and straight on the phone. 'Viv? Ambulance here, quick. Chief Superintendent Cruickshank's been shot. And get the bomb squad. Suspect device in DI Drake's flat.'

There was stuff littered over the floor and the coffee table: wires of various colours, pliers, screwdrivers, a digital watch, and bits of kit Gene didn't recognise. On the coffee table was half a metal beer keg packed with rectangular blocks of what looked like red plasticene wrapped in waxy paper.

Gene looked over at Ray. 'Know what it is?'

'Looks like Semtex, Guv. A lot of it. Reckon he was planning to bring the whole building down. Want me to get DI Wimbledon?'

'No. It's a bomb. That's all we need to know. All other questions can wait for the Bomb Squad. Stand _still_, Alex.' Gene finally wrenched the last of the tape from her wrists.

Free of her bindings, Alex pulled the tape off her mouth as she skidded across the room to Cruickshank; she took his face in both hands. 'Brian? Brian – open your eyes.' She was desperate to shake him awake but terrified of the blood spreading over his chest. She jumped up and ran to the kitchen, grabbing tea towels from a drawer and skidding back to Cruickshank's side; wadding up a towel she pressed it against his wound, making him hiss in pain. His eyes blinked open, and behind the pain was calm acceptance. That frightened Alex more than the blood. Cruickshank smiled at her, tried to speak, but the sound died in his throat. Alex felt her heart squeezed by a great vice, the terror flooding through her as she watched her friend fight for control. He made a visible effort to speak, his eyes never leaving hers. 'It's okay, Alex. Time to go back.'

The tears welled up and spilled down her face. 'Brian…' Her voice cracked.

Cruickshank smiled into her eyes. 'Done my bit. Twenty-first century needs me back.'

'_I_ need you…' Alex could only whisper. Her hand was trembling as she held it to his face, gently.

'No. Got him. Happy.' He smiled. 'Good…'

Gene was standing over them. 'We've got to get him out.'

'We can't move him.' Tears were streaming down Alex's face.

'Did Layton arm the bomb, Alex?'

'I don't know.'

'Exactly. I'm not going to take the risk. Ray!' He pulled Alex away. 'Sorry Brian, this is going to hurt.' Gene and Ray lifted the tall man and staggered to the door. 'Chris – go ahead of us. Take DI Drake with you. Go _on_, Alex. Go down and tell them what's up here.' He growled at them and staggered to the door in their wake.

'What about him, Guv?' Chris nodded at the unconscious Layton.

'Leave the bastard. Cuff him to something in case he wakes up and sets the bomb off.'

It took them a long ninety seconds to carry Cruickshank down two flights of stairs and out of the building, into a wall of flashing blue lights.

Alex was there, pulling his arm to guide them to an ambulance at the street corner where they laid Cruickshank gently on the stretcher waiting for him. The dying man's face was grey with pain, but his eyes opened at the touch of Alex's hand.

'I'll find Jaspan…' His voice was just a thread of sound.

Alex nodded, trying to keep control. 'Thank him for me. Tell him…'

Cruickshank smiled. Alex felt Gene's arm around her, saw him reach his hand to Cruickshank's shoulder; saw Brian look up at Gene for a moment of understanding. Gene squeezed his shoulder, then walked away, leaving him with Alex.

She bent her head to kiss him, the tears falling on his face. Whispered to him, her heart breaking. 'I do love you, Brian. Owe you so much. Thank you…'

The blue eyes blazed for an instant, and he opened his mouth to speak, but the effort was too much. No voice, just a gurgling sound and a spurt of bright blood from his mouth and nose. His eyes closed and his body went limp, his head falling heavy against her arm.

Alex turned her head, screaming at the medics as she clutched the unconscious body, trying to hang on to him. 'Help him! Please… do something…'

Gene pulled her away, holding her tight in his arms as the ambulance men loaded the unconscious man, then helped her into the ambulance to sit with him for his final chase, her hands clutching his, willing him to hang on. But at some stage she realised she was holding an empty body. Brian Cruickshank had gone. She prayed he was waking up to a future in 2005 and hadn't just… stopped. Despite the siren screaming and things rattling as the vehicle raced over the unforgiving roads, the silence of the absent life was a barrier she couldn't break.

xxxxxxxxxx

Gene found her in Casualty. She had no idea what the time was, how long she'd been there. He said nothing, just pulled her into his arms, holding her tight, a hand on her head as she sobbed into his neck. Alex cried for Molly, for her parents, Jaspan, Cruickshank. For Firoz. She wept for her lost life, wept for the pain she'd caused. When the first storm of grief had left her exhausted, her husband put an arm round her waist and helped her walk out of the hospital.

Gene had automatically turned left out of the London's car park to take Alex home, but she insisted on going back to Scarborough Street, needing to see it through. 'Have to see it through, honey.'

'Okay, love.' Knowing she was right, he turned down Sidney Street to head back to Fenchurch East. 'It's all over bar the dry cleaning. Layton didn't have time to arm the bomb, thanks to you and Brian, and the explosives boys couldn't find anything else.'

'We're not going back to a pile of rubble, then.'

'Not so much as a dent in Luigi's paintwork.'

'Layton?' She knew he was alive. Had to be, to shoot her in 2008.

'Dragged out and thrown into an ambulance. Bastard's still not dead. But he'll have so many consecutive life sentences he'll still be knitting mailbags when everyone else is living on Mars.'

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Not yet ten o'clock, but Gene was getting pissed: hair like a rat's nest, tie long gone, shirt sagging out of his trousers, roaring at some comment from Womble as the whole team, half of uniform, the Chief Super and a clutch of secretaries helped celebrate the release of DCI Gene Hunt into the chilly world outside the Met.

It was the last Friday in May; Womble had already taken his leave of the RUC, moved his kitchen sink to London and was settled with Carol and Scott. He and Gene had put the paperwork in to Companies House, and the new consultancy business was frighteningly official but already solvent, thanks to a generous legacy from Cruickshank. Apart from a slug of cash to several charities, Brian had left everything else to Alex, which had reduced her to helpless tears in the solicitor's office.

The day after the funeral, Gene, Carol, Womble and Shaz helped Alex plant three flowering cherry trees on the edge of Victoria Park, opposite the house. A white cherry each for Cruickshank and Jaspan, and a double pink for Molly. 'My beloved daughter, lost to me but, perhaps, sharing a world with Jim and Brian. That world is the better for the three of them. We all know that we're the poorer for their loss.'

She could watch the trees grow from the house, and imagine her daughter develop and blossom over the years. Maybe Brian would find her after July 2008, talk to her about her mother, be a friend, a mentor. They'd continue. Just not with her.

Now another ending. Gene Hunt, erstwhile sherriff of Manchester and scourge of London scum, was walking away from his past into a challenging future. But he was his own boss now. No more fighting internal battles, wasting time and grey hairs on politics, self-interest and corruption. And most important of all, he wasn't alone.

Alex watched him putting the last touches to the police legend that was Gene Hunt, leaving them with material for endless stories, lasting memories. They'd find it impossible to forget him, the maverick copper with a hard fist and a big heart. Her husband.

She stood up and headed for the ladies', bumping into Mrs Luigi by the kitchen door. The dark-eyed woman bounced off Alex, clutching her arms to steady her and muttering apologies. '_Scuzi, cara, scuzi. O,_ _signora_…' She looked intently into Alex's face, her own breaking into a joyful beaming grin and a stream of Italian which was well beyond Alex's linguistic limits, but she got the gist.

Overhearing his wife's excited comments, Luigi hurried over; after a brief consultation, he turned to Alex, grabbed her shoulders and kissed her twice, _con brio_. '_Bellissima_ Signora Alex... My wife, she is never wrong. She knows.' He tapped his nose and nodded. 'She always knows. Such happy days!'

The kerfuffle caught Gene's eye and he shambled over to them, throwing his arm round Alex's shoulders: he wasn't as drunk as he'd looked. 'What are you three plotting?'

Luigi grabbed Gene's free hand and shook it fiercely. 'So happy for you, my friend. Congratulations. I hope he take after his _mama_. You call him Luigi, eh?' His eyes sparkling with the news, the Italian chuckled, bundling his wife back to the kitchen and leaving Gene staring at Alex, wide-eyed. 'Did he… Are you…?'

She nodded, then shrugged, smiling into his eyes. 'I think so. Seeing the doctor on Monday. Didn't want to say anything before I was certain, but Mrs Luigi seems to be clairvoyant when it comes to pregnant women.'

'Christ…' The news had knocked Gene for six, and all he could do was stare at his wife, utterly bemused.

'Is it good news?' Alex felt anxious, suddenly unsure of him. They'd never talked about it: having a child of their own. Maybe…

'Good news?' He slung his arms round her and squeezed her in a hug so fierce she couldn't breathe. 'Bloody brilliant. It's bloody brilliant, Bolls.' He released her, but only so he could kiss her lips off.

Stroking his face, she couldn't look away from his eyes, glowing like wildfire. 'Keep it under your hat for now. Our secret for a bit longer, eh?'

Gene nodded, his eyelashes clumped damply together. 'Schtum. Just between us.'

Neither of them had reckoned on the gossip antennae bristling all around them. It took less than thirty seconds for the rumour to zap round the bar and a lusty cheer went up, making Alex blush. 'So much for our secret.'

Gene pulled her into the crowd through hands slapping him on the back or ruffling his hair. 'Fuck off, you bastards. Whatever you think you know, you don't. Nosey sods. I'm saying nothing…' He swatted away compliments and handshakes, but he couldn't stop grinning.

Close to midnight, and Gene was still in full flow. Alex watched him, every cell in her body bursting with love for him and for their unborn child. However long she had with him, whatever happened, whatever this whole world is about, she was going to live every moment of it, love every moment with him. With them. For in the end, what does it matter how, or where, or why? In the end, love is what matters; love is the best of us. And love is what survives.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_- end –_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_That's it. Finito. Thanks so much for sticking with it. Huge thanks go to my priceless betas Wombledon – who was also my brilliant technical expert on all things forensic, medical and explosive – and Gene's Gilly who encouraged me at the start; to everyone who's answered queries, provided details and given me support in various ways; and to everyone who has reviewed – you'll never know what a difference you've made._


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